MY WIFE SHARMAYNE BECOMES A LESBIAN BROTHEL SLUT

PART ONE

It all started with an invitation to a kick-boxing tournament which both Sharmayne and I had been loathing to attend.

It wasn’t really my thing, but I hardly had any choice in the matter. One of the guys in the office was strong into kick-boxing. The local club was putting on a show, mostly amateur bouts including one featuring him. The height of the show was to be three professional bouts between top-ranked athletes, including a female heavyweight bout between a Dina Dynamite and Juanita “Powerful” Gonzalez, apparently the Mexican lady champion kick-boxer.

As his office boss I could hardly refuse the invitation and made a show of being thankful for the two tickets. When I told my wife Sharmayne, her reaction was much as I had anticipated.

“There is no way”, she asserted firmly “that I will attend anything so disgusting”.

We debated the matter for a couple of days. I even tried to induce her by reasoning that as she was a professional physiotherapist and masseuse it would be of interest to her to note the possible occurrence of sporting injuries. Even that line failed to lure her too.

Sharmayne was not one to be easily swayed against her will. Ten years of marriage had by now convinced me she was not a lady for turning easily. Both of us had bounced back from failed first marriages to attempt a second try and – so far – the ten years had been good – well at least I had classed them as being good.

We were now in our mid 40s but Sharmayne was in great shape. Her physio-massage profession and her daily gym work-outs made sure of that. She certainly had a healthy look about her, particularly her black skin which always seemed to have a sheen quality about it, a great contrast to my pasty office white complexion!

Sharmayne had Afro-Caribbean lineage from one of the Caribbean Sea islands. She had a fiery temper but an equally soft nature when relaxed. To create a total clash with her shining blackness, she had dyed her hair a flaming red and definitely had a touch of Tina Turner about her, a panther-like personality with distinct Amazonian qualities.

Finally, after much persuasion and compromise on my part we agreed to go to the fights and found ourselves in frontline VIP seats, right at the ringside. On the way in we were given a complimentary programme.

Sharmayne thumbed through the brochure without much interest and with a distinct disdainful curl of her upper lip until she reached the page that featured Dina Dynamite.

The prize kick-boxer was a paragon of health and strength, standing at 6′ 6′ – so the programme distinctly said. From tip to toe she bristled with energy, although for my taste she was distinctly too muscular and I certainly preferred the type of woman who had Sharmayne’s curvy-shaped and trim body, though she was certainly a foot shorter.

Dina had some outstanding features besides her height and strength. She was as pale white as the driven snow and topped the paleness with closely-cropped strawberry blonde hair.

Grotesquely, she was decorated with a wealth of multi-coloured tattoos one of which was a scenic dragon breathing bright red flames which started from under her left breast and extended down to her calves. Other white flesh areas were covered with a variety of chains, a black vampire, a menacing looking eagle and a sprig of thorns.

For a pugilist she was pretty, with fleshy red lips and a button-mushroom shaped cute nose and she certainly lacked for nothing in the breast department.

Sharmayne had become stuck at Dina’s picture. The expression of disdain had dropped from her lip and had been replaced by wide-eyed wonderment.

“Wow” she murmured.

“Wow what?” I asked curiously. “She looks quite bizarre, unreal”.

“Well” said Sharmayne thoughtfully, “we’ll see how she matches up when she comes into the ring”. She folded the programme on her lap, displaying Dina’s picture, her eyes reverting to it every few seconds.

I had my doubts whether we would actually see Dina in action. Our office fighter was one of the early bouts and as a compromise to Sharmayne to persuade her to attend at all I had said we would see his fight, take in a few others and then make an excuse and leave and go off somewhere to dinner.

Dina’s fight against Juanita “Powerful” Gonzalez was the last bout on the programme.

Meanwhile our man had won his bout, showered and taken a seat alongside us at the ringside and had begun to explain the finer points of the “sport”. I say “sport” because so far all I had done was winced and grimaced as kicks and punches landed with fury – but then I was never into contact sport.

I began to get restive and looked towards Sharmayne for the knowing nod for us to make our move. None was forthcoming. She had become engrossed in the explanations, asking questions and showing real interest.

“What about Dina?” she asked, highly interested. “Is she good?”

That sparked off an animated discussion between them the gist of which was that Dina was definitely the best. She was strong and powerful, was superbly fit, delivered tremendous kicks and had great boxing ability. Quite obviously my fate was sealed – we would be staying to see her fight.

A razzamatazz of fanfares heralded the female contestants of the main bout as a crackle of expectation frizzled through the crowd.

The bout was fast and furious. I was astonished that women could be as strong and vicious as these two. They kicked and punched the hell out of each other. I had always known that professional wrestling was nothing more than a fix, but I quickly realized these two were not faking it and that professional kick-boxing was not like professional wrestling.

As they landed kicks and blows the thuds made me wince and grimace.

My astonishment however focused more on watching Sharmayne view this spectacle. Her eyes were dilated and her nostrils flared with excitement. She was following the bout blow by blow and obviously rooting for Dina Dynamite. She clapped widely with each kick and punch that Dina landed and when this horror show came to an end with the referee holding up Dina’s gloved hand to indicate her victory, Sharmayne was on her feet clapping frenziedly.

Her next move was unprecedented and astonished me even more.

“I want to meet her, I want to meet Dina. Take me back-stage!” She was almost frenzied with excitement as she swung round on my office junior with this verbal assault.

Well, I had never been “back-stage” in anything before. The mingled smell of sweat, oil and muscle liniment and shower hot-water fumes made my stomach turn. We were in Dina’s changing room and she was preparing to shower.

In the confusion, I don’t remember clearly what happened next and how the conversation went except that Sharmayne made a lot of excited “oohs” and “aahs” noises and Dina showed obvious appreciation as they began an animated chat. My office companion shook hands with us all and left and I remember sitting in a corner as Dina began to explain that she had pulled a thigh muscle during the fight and it was bothering her. Sharmayne had earlier explained that she was a physio-masseuse.

Sharmayne ran her expert fingers over the painful area as Dina grimaced.

“You need a hot shower and a massage otherwise it will get more painful”.

The dressing room door opened and in walked one of the most butch-women I had ever come across. Not that she was ugly, but she was robust with work-outs and had a square-jawed face with a most severe expression. She was attractive but repulsive at the same time, almost matched Dina for height and immediately conveyed a domineering and commanding character of a person in complete control of every situation.

She wore a business suit and held an attaché case. She announced herself as Dina’s manager and agent, in what I assumed was a Russian accent, and could we tell her what was going on? This, I thought, in a most unpleasant manner – as if we were trying in some way to entice Dina away from her.

Dina waved her away, nonchalantly I thought in view of her stern and surly expression

“This is Anouschka Guseva, my manager. Relax Anoush – that’s what I call her for short – Sharmayne is here on a courtesy visit. She’s a fan but she’s a physio too and I think I’ve pulled a muscle somewhere”.

Anouschka turned a glassy-eyed stare on Sharmayne, surveying her body from tip to toe. From her name and her accent, I had already decided she was Slavonic, maybe Russian, or from The Ukraine. She certainly looked somebody who had just escaped from a prison gulag and was intent on wreaking vengeance on all her foes.

“Are you a good physio?” she asked quizzically.

Sharmayne reeled off her experience, including her clientele base, all of which seemed to satisfy Anoush who suddenly changed her attitude and became friendlier. Despite her forbidding personality, Anouschka was fascinating in a bizarre way.

Her voice had a purr-like quality and although her face had a bony-like quality about the cheeks she was in a way certainly attractive. Above all, her face showed determination and grit, typical of a person who had had to fight hard to be where she was, and was certainly determined to keep things that way.

I guessed she was a number of years older than Dina who was probably about 25 to Anouschka’s nearing 50 years. She had a wry smile too and when she did infrequently smile her eyes were filled with a malice-like quality that underlined her menacing propensities.

The next development was that I was driving home alone.

Sharmayne, Dina and Anouschka were driven off in a chauffeured-limousine to the boxer’s hotel for an immediate physiotherapy session, which, Sharmayne had hurriedly explained to me, would serve as a good experience for her to branch out into sports-therapy and would serve as good publicity.

I waited patiently at home for her return. An hour or so later Sharmayne phoned me to say that Dina needed a full-body massage and not to wait up for her. I could clearly hear Anouschka’s purring voice in the background which was clearly slurred as if alcohol had worked its effect.

I began to feel uneasy about this. There was something irregular in Sharmayne’s voice that subconsciously seemed to evoke alarm bells.

“Go to bed” she said firmly. “I’ll be some time here. Be back when I’m finished”. Her tone was terse and hurried, like that of somebody not wanting to be questioned but in a hurry to convey a message and ring off.

Still feeling disgruntled I went to bed – we had separate bedrooms – and, as is my wont, once my head hit the pillow I slept like a log.

The sequence of events that followed still leaves me dumb and confused. Things happened quickly, very quickly, and turned my life, our lives, upside down.

I awoke next morning. Sharmayne was not in her bed. Neither the bed nor her room had been disturbed and she wasn’t in the house.

I reached for my mobile and saw I had a text message. It read simply “Hon, it’s late now so I’m staying over. Love you”.

I tried to ring but her mobile was switched off. I didn’t even know what hotel she had gone to with Dina. My stomach began to churn. What was going on?

Needless to say at the office I hardly knew what I was doing. I couldn’t ask my kick-boxing office contact if he knew which hotel Dina was at because that could have elicited awkward questions. I rang her mobile repetitively but it was switched off. Finally, after countless attempts it rang.

The voice that answered was Anouschka’s. It was terse and sharp.

“Yes?” she rasped.

“I want to speak to my wife, to Sharmayne. Why has her mobile been switched off. Where is she? Why hasn’t she come home? What’s she doing?” I continued to reel off a series of questions.

“Sharmayne has been very busy. She can’t speak to you now. She told me to tell you that she is well.”

“But I want to talk to her. Where is she?”

“I will ring you in one hour’s time and tell you what you have to do”. The monotone sounded like an officious reply from a Red Army prison commandant. It had no emotion in it at all.

“Have to do! I’m not doing anything. Where is Sharmayne?”

The mobile clicked dead. I was left fuming and exasperated and more worried then ever. I couldn’t think because I just didn’t know what to think.

As precisely as Swiss clock-work, my mobile rang an hour later.

It was Anouschka. Again her voice was a monotone, expressionless.

“Meet me at the junction of Bradley Street with Kennedy Avenue at exactly 7pm and I will take you to Sharmayne. I’ll pick you up in my car. Be there on time. If you’re not there I’ll just drive on”.

The mobile clicked dead.

Now I was more worried and anxious than ever. My mind reeled from theory to possibility. Had something happened to Sharmayne? Had she been kidnapped? Was she being held against her will? My mind became blocked with possibilities and probabilities. But there was nothing to do except wait and worry.

Finally it was time and I had not even begun to unravel this mystery. What could have happened to Sharmayne? Only 48 hours earlier we had a comfortable life and a comfortable livelihood without any friction between us and now everything was surrounded in mystery and confusion.

I was at the meeting point 15 minutes early, ensuring I was in a prominent enough position not to be missed by any passing vehicle. I strained my eyes to make sure I saw every vehicle that went by, but just as Anouschka had said, she pulled up next to me precisely at 7pm. She was the only person in the car.

Grim-faced I flung myself into her vehicle.

“Where’s Sharmayne?” I demanded angrily, avoiding looking into her steely eyes.

Her reply was without emotion, robotic.

“Do you want to see her, or not?”

“Of course I damn well do, I demand to see her, I am making it clear to you …”

Anouschka turned her severe and uncompromising face in my direction. When she spoke her words rang clearly and menacingly.

“Well, just shut up. If you don’t I’ll drop you here. You either do exactly as I say or you won’t see her. It’s entirely up to you”. Her tone was cold and calculating as if I were nothing more than a piece of thrash.

I made to react vehemently but thought better of it and just slumped back in my seat. An oppressive silence followed as we sped through the centre of town and into the outer suburbs. As the rows of houses began to thin out, trees and patches of country-side began to prevail.

Then, she stopped the car in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere.

“Now, you wear this hood and keep it on until I tell you to remove it, or you get off here”.

“What!” I spluttered. “That’s preposterous…ludicrous. What have you done with my wife? Has she been kidnapped? Is this some kind of ransom plot? It’s time I called the cops.

She threw the hood in my face.

“Put this on you fool. She hasn’t been kidnapped and she’s in no danger. If fact, she’s very happy as you’ll soon find out if you cooperate. Now put on the hood and let’s not waste more time”.

This time I caught sight of a faint twinkle of amusement in her eye and somehow that seemed to reassure me. If this was some kind of game then I would have to play it.

I slipped on the hood of thick material leaving me in pitch darkness and only then noticed it had clips at the base which went around my neck. The infernal woman sprang forward and slapped a padlock to the clips and pressed it shut. Now the hood could only come off when she wanted to take it off.

We drove on for what seemed to be a good hour and I guess we were by now far out of town unless she had doubled back and returned. I had no way of knowing but I guessed we were heading out because traffic sounds became less and less and although muffled by the hood, I could distinctly hear country-like sounds.

How long was this going to last? I was beginning to lose my patience again. For the last hour we had not exchanged a word. Then, the vehicle slowed down and finally came to a stop.

“We’ve arrived at our destination” she announced mechanically. “But you will keep the hood on and I will lead you”.

And that’s what she did. She took my hand like a small child’s and I stumbled on behind her with not even a slight clue of where we were or what we were about to do. I sensed we had gone into a building and then we went up a flight of stairs and along what must have been a corridor.

“Where are we?” She did not bother to reply to my muffled tones but we stopped.

I felt her firm hands on my shoulders.

“Sit down. There’s a chair where you’re standing. Sit in it”. Her hands pressed my shoulders down and I sank into a chair, or more probably a kind of arm-chair.

“Now, listen to me carefully. Sharmayne is near by. She is well and she is happy and you’ll see her in a few moments. But before you see her and take the hood off I have to strap your arms and legs to the chair”.

“What?” I exploded.

“Only a few moments away” she said alluringly. I resigned myself to the situation and she strapped me firmly and rendered me immoveable.

I sat in the darkness for what must have been one or two minutes but seemed to be an endless age and then Anouschka unsnapped the padlock and pulled off the hood.

In those mini-seconds I tried to fathom what scene would meet my eyes but when the hood came off I was still in pitch darkness.

“I will now switch on a little light so that your eyes can adjust”. Well, at least I had guessed one thing slightly right. Anouschka Guseva may not have been a prisoner in a gulag, but she must have been a commander of one! Now I knew what they meant about political prisoners being spirited away, about Guantanamo and other such like places. It was awesome.

A dim light came on and gradually became stronger as my eyes adjusted to it.

I was seated, firmly-strapped, in a large oak-paneled room, resplendent with antique furniture, with heavily-framed paintings on the walls, well that is on three sides of the room because directly ahead of me the fourth wall was adorned with a massive and heavy velvet curtain on rails.

“You will now see Sharmayne but she won’t be able to see you, or hear you. You can shout as much as you want because she’s in a sound-proof room and this one is like that too”.

“Behind the curtain is a see-through mirror, you can see through it from this side because it’s a window but on the other side it’s a mirror and they can’t see you. I am now going to draw the curtain”.

Slowly, deliberately, this Russian (or whatever she was) tyrant, strode towards the curtain which must have been less than six feet away from where I was sitting. She firmly took the rope-chord in hand and slowly, agonizingly began to draw the curtain. As she did, the dimmer lights sprang to full glow, splashing the room with light and sparkle.

The curtain parted in the middle as the two folds reeled backwards towards the wall, revealing a large window.

Eagerly I craned forward to get the best view. Anouschka had come back to my side and was carefully watching my reactions.

I froze with horror or amazement or call it what you will.

Yes, Sharmayne was there – but she was entirely naked, her generous curves and full boobs gently undulating and bouncing. Her red hair was drawn up in a bun revealing fully her beautiful face, her almond-shaped eyes and shining cheeks.

She was bending over a raised couch where she was skillfully massaging somebody with glistening oil or lotion. Her subject was Dina who was lying face down on the couch, also totally naked. Sharmayne’s elegant fingers and splayed thumbs were working their way along the shining white body, caressing the tattoos lovingly, her hands gradually slipping down the luscious white body, feeling Dina’s firm muscles, the girth of her waist, her buttocks and her thighs.

Then Dina raised her face towards Sharmayne and their lips closed on each others’ in a long, seductive and lingering kiss, their red tongues provocatively feeling each other.

The whole scene was redolent with sexual vibes. Unbelievingly I slumped back in my chair. I didn’t even have the power to speak.

Anouschka was watching the scene with sparkling eyes, her body twitching with lust and desire.

“Isn’t that a lovely scene?” she asked approvingly. “What can be more beautiful, more erotic than two lovely women making love to each other, having sex and satisfying their mutual body desires?”

This startling piece of prose jerked me back to my senses.

“I don’t understand. What is this? What’s Sharmayne doing there? Is this some kind of bizarre joke? Why are they both naked – why is Sharmayne naked? I must talk to her – this is monstrous, unbelievable. You must have drugged her. What have you done to her? She’s never been a lesbian, she’s not a lesbian. She’s my wife”.

Uselessly I tried to struggle up from the chair.

“Sharmayne, listen to me – Sharmayne!” I screamed at the top of my voice which echoed around the paneled room but made no difference on the other side.

Sharmayne had now mounted Dina, their oiled bodies seductively slithering over each other. Sharmayne stopped briefly to sprinkle some oil on her glistening pussy, rubbing it into her labia lips and titillating her clit. She raised herself on her feet and went to stand in front of Dina and then lowered her fleshy pussy over Dina’s waiting lips.

Dina hungrily attacked the opened lips, her tongue slobbering and probing the pink cavity of Sharmayne’s shimmering inner flesh. My wife’s shining black body rippled with pleasure as she pressed herself into Dina’s greedy lips, her firm hands roughly grabbing and opening Dina’s bouncing white buttocks. With skilled fingers she lovingly kneaded excess oil into Dina’s gaping ass-hole.

I could not hear the sounds but I sensed the moans and seductive whelps of pleasure that both must have been mouthing.

Abruptly my tyrant drew closed the curtain and dimmed down the lights again.

“Now, down to business” she said briskly.

“Business” I repeated faintly in a hardly audible voice.

“Sharmayne has finally realized and found her sexual orientation. She is not exactly one of us (I took that to mean totally lesbian) but she is distinctly bi-sexual and has found pleasures that were previously denied to her because she did not have the courage to announce herself to you and others.

“All that changed yesterday when she set eyes on Dina. She knew she had to have her, to express herself to Dina. I realized that straight away yesterday when I saw you in Dina’s dressing room. The desire in Sharmayne’s eyes was so rampant she was almost having an orgasm just by being near her.

“Dina has strong sexual vibes that are easily picked up by other women admirers. I should know – we have been lovers long enough!” She gave an evil chuckle.

“I certainly would not allow her to sleep around, but I also realized that she too was maddeningly attracted to your beautiful wife and, well – we made-up a good threesome and it gave me the opportunity to enjoy both of them.”

“Throughout last night we enabled Sharmayne to realize her full sexual potential, a very hot, physical and sexual potential”. Again she chuckled, a sound that I was beginning to detest.

I continued to listen as if in a stupor.

“In turn we made her climax at least 15 times last night. It was frantic and spectacular and her orgasms were volcanic and wild”. She unzipped her jeans and exposed a generous expanse of inner thighs, which like Dina’s were glowing white and firm. They were covered in welts and love-bites. Pointedly she put a finger on them.

“This is the evidence of her wildness. Dina has even more. Sharmayne wanted to eat us both and would have done if we hadn’t controlled her properly”. Again she emitted that detested and disgusting chuckle.

“Your wife has remarkable strength” she said mockingly “but Dina is of course very strong. Your wife loves to be pleasured orally – apparently you weren’t much into that – but I can assure you that she has volcanic climaxes when she is being tongued. Did you know too that she squirts? She squirted so much pussy juice we had to change the bedding several times – and it’s so hot and pungent! She must have been storing it up all these years, waiting for welcome relief.

“Well, I can assure you we have now released her. She loves being handled, loves being masturbated and she gives delicious oral herself”.

Still I was speechless, unable to take in this fiend’s mocking monotone, unable to stand the bragging edge to her voice as she described how she had handled my wife’s sexual prowess. My mind reeled uncomprehendingly. Was it all a dream, a nightmare, a plot to drive me crazy?

Sharmayne had never shown any bi-sexual tendencies or feelings for other women. Our sex life throughout the ten years of marriage had been normal, not spectacular but normal. After all, we were no longer teenagers grabbing every opportunity to have each other. We were both on a second marriage so the early flush of enthusiasm had ebbed quickly and after that it settled to normality and we sought companionship more than sexual appetite.

That perhaps was what I had misjudged and evidently, misjudged badly.

My tormentor was speaking again.

“What happens next? That’s entirely down to you. This morning I had a lengthy discussion with Sharmayne and we have various suggestions to put to you. Sharmayne still loves you – perhaps not entirely sexually – but she was not unhappy in marriage. However, now that she has found her proper orientation, she is not going to give that up”.

I pondered the word “we”. These suggestions were being formulated and promulgated by Anouschka and her lesbian lover Dina.

Undeterred, she raced on, her monotone slightly rising.

“Your first alternative is for you to decide whether to accept her situation and agree to it or not. That is, you remain married, you will occasionally be allowed to have sex with her, BUT I will continue to enjoy her and also allow Dina to enjoy her. If that is not acceptable to you, then file for divorce”.

The words were harsh and decisive, not negotiable.

“If you agree to accept this situation I would suggest that you sell your house and come to live with us here. There is plenty of space”. This time I felt like springing to my feet and strangling her infernal chuckle in her very throat.

“If you don’t like that, you can stay in your own home and we will agree a programme of visits. Ideally, it would be best if you moved in with us and help us run this place”.

It was obvious I would have to carefully study her every word. What did she mean “help us run this place”. What was “this place”?

“Dina and I are frequently on the road because Dina has her kick-boxing career. Sharmayne has been appointed her physio and masseuse and will naturally travel with us wherever we go. You can accompany us in the capacity of a sort of administrator, booking flights, hotels, seeing to the baggage and other tasks like that or you can be based here and look after this place for us”.

Again, “this place” I thought

“I have two further explanations for you”. More than ever her tone adopted an economic and business-like edge.

“This morning’s tableau was purposely staged for you. Sharmayne did not have the nerve to announce her new life to you. I suggested this by way of introduction and she agreed”.

“The second point” she said quickly “is this”.

By now I expected a major announcement, and it certainly was one.

“This is a very large house. In Europe we’d call it a “chateau”. It is in the country-side and has acres of its own grounds. I am the owner and I run it as a leisure clinic, a haven of pleasure for business women and show personalities to be able to enjoy some relaxation and time-out. The clientele is varied – sometimes we even have housewives – who, like Sharmayne, suddenly discover a new adventure in their life.

“I have my own professional staff to keep them entertained in various ways and offer them various services for which they pay handsomely because some of them are extremely rich. The services are optional, extending from the bizarre, to sado-masochism, to fantasy role-play, to simple pure sexual enjoyment with a responsive partner”.

I exploded entirely at this point.

“You mean you run a lesbian brothel!”

She shrugged indifferently. She turned to reach behind an antique cabinet and pressed a buzzer. A door clicked open and Dina strode in, looking every inch as fierce as she had appeared in the ring. She was wearing a black leather suit and high-heeled red boots making her appear even more gigantic.

She glided to my side. Somewhere in the background Sharmayne was hovering. I jumped to my feet.

The newly-revealed “Madame” continued.

“I prefer leisure clinic. Sharmayne has agreed to be part of that staff offering special services – particularly her masseuse skills – and I see great marketing potential for her use. My Dina and I will give her a thorough training and orientation programme on the skilled art of giving sexual pleasure to women and combined with her masseuse skills she should prove a top attraction to our more wealthy clients.”

“You are going to turn her into a whore, a lesbian slut…”

I swung a wild punch towards the hated Slavonic-featured face but suddenly felt a strong kick in the pit of my stomach which left me a crumbling heap on the ground. Dina had swung into action, the reason why Anouschka had called her in.

Still dazed I saw Sharmayne standing over me.

“No, no” she cried. “Don’t hurt him. Oh my poor Dennis, this has been such a shock to you”. There were genuine tears in her eyes and she railed with anger.

“We had agreed there was to be no violence, none at all and that Dennis would be free to choose whatever he wanted. Oh my poor thing, you’re hurt”.

She went down on her knees and cradled my head in her arms.

“You poor dear I am sorry. I never meant for you to be hurt. I knew this would shock you but I expressly insisted there was to be no violence”.

Dina was down on her knees too.

“He’s not hurt Sharmayne. It was just a light kick, to stop him hitting Anouschka. He’s just a bit winded”.

The rest is really what is called “history”.

I was given time to speak with Sharmayne. I pleaded with her, begged her, I even cried with her. She was not for turning. She could not go back to what she called her “old way”. A new life had opened for her and she was too excited to lose the opportunity. She urged me to move in with them so that we could remain together and both of us could start a new life.

Today I am the “administrator” of Anouschka’s “leisure clinic” and a new life has truly opened up both for Sharmayne and me. When I say “administrator” I mean I do everything connected with balancing the books, keeping the accounts, overseeing the maintenance and upkeep and generally everything else.

As for Sharmayne, well, she started a new career too, but that’s another chapter.

PHOENIX46 14th February 2010