Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 33

Not reading Breaking Faith?  The reviews under the 'My Books' tab may persuade you to give it a try.

To those continuing the journey, I say, ‘Enjoy the ride.’

I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have featured here. You can find those already posted via the archive; just search by chapter number. And, if you missed the start, you’ll find it here: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html

Read, enjoy, invite your friends along. As an author, I want people to read my writing; simple as that.

Chapter 33

Saturday 10th July

‘Christ, I’m sorry, Faith. You’re soaked to the skin!’

‘That’s right, Leigh, to the skin. See, my blouse is transparent? Almost as if I’m naked. You can see my breasts and my nipples. Isn’t that nice?’

I deliberately looked her in the eye, determined to resist the temptation her heavy irony amplified. ‘I know. I should’ve been here and waiting for you, but…

‘Oh, it’s not important. You and Netta had extra time for sex, so it doesn’t matter.’

‘I really am sorry.’

‘No, please don’t upset yourself. If Netta wants sex, well that’s infinitely more important than getting here on time to meet boring Faith from her first ever stay away from home, especially when she was so looking forward to seeing you. I do understand.’

She was angry and hurt and I had no excuse. It irked me that she was right about the reason as well. ‘I said I was sorry.’

‘Oh, well, that’s all right then, if you’re sorry. That’ll dry my clothes and my skin and make up for my embarrassment at walking half naked down the station. That’ll even make up for my disappointment when I was full of the anticipation of seeing you waiting for me. Everything’s fine if you’re sorry.’

I made a determined effort not to look at her lovely breasts pushing against the transparent fabric and looked instead into her eyes that were full of justifiable anger and hurt. ‘Shit! I deserved that.’

‘Of course, if my breasts aren’t worth looking at, I might as well fold my arms over them.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ I looked, long and hard and they were lovely. ‘You’re very beautiful, Faith. You have a lovely body. Let me get you home, dry and warm again and I’ll put the kettle on and make you a nice hot cuppa. So, did you pass?’

She looked at me as though there was another diatribe waiting to explode from her, and then, as if all the rest had been an act, she burst out laughing. ‘I passed, I passed, I passed!’

‘Brilliant! I knew you would, of course. Brilliant! Well done, Faith!’ I pulled over and stopped the car, leant across and kissed her mouth and hugged her as close as the seats allowed. She was wet and chill, the cold rain firming her nipples as if in the height of arousal. I longed to cup those gorgeous breasts but I wasn’t sure she was ready for that. I made do with another look at her, this time at leisure. She made no effort to hide and there was no condemnation in her eyes. ‘You’re a marvel. I’m so pleased and proud of you. Your dad’ll be over the moon.’

‘How is he?’

‘Haven’t you phoned?’

‘Only to let him know I arrived safely. He’s all right, isn’t he?’

‘As well as when you left, yes. God, I’m glad to see you, Faith. Bugger me if I haven’t missed you.’

‘A lovely sentiment oddly expressed. I wouldn’t perform that particular service, even if I were equipped to, but I think I’m flattered.’

‘You’ve learned something.’

She smiled with all the enigmatic force of a sphinx. ‘I suppose I might have, yes.’ But she would say no more; I was being punished for my late arrival.

Netta raised her eyebrows at her exposure but hugged her in spite of the wetness and welcomed her home. ‘Well done, Fay. I knew you’d do it.’

‘How did you know I’d passed?’

‘Failures don’t usually grin so wide that their faces are in danger of falling into two halves.’

‘Come upstairs with me, Netta, I want to ask you a few questions whilst I get dry and changed.’

‘I think Leigh was rather hoping you’d stay down here wet, Faith.’

‘Oh, I think Leigh’s had more reward than he deserves in the circumstances, don’t you?’

I went to fulfil my promise of a cup of tea for Faith as they went upstairs. How alike and how different they were; sisters who might’ve been strangers. I knew a time was approaching when I would have to choose between them, and Netta’s charms and experience no longer made her the obvious choice. There were things in Faith that spoke to me, touched my soul. I found her invading my thoughts with increasing frequency. That she was now as physically appealing as any woman I’d known, made her all the more attractive.

She drove herself to see her dad on Sunday, in my car, of course. It left me free to continue the undivided attention I’d been able to lavish on Netta during her absence and gave me a weekend without the irritation and anxiety of Netta storming off in a huff of pique or jealousy.

The car drew up around teatime and I waited for her to bring me the latest on her dad. As soon as she entered the room, I knew something was wrong. Her hand covered her mouth and her face bore signs of real anxiety. ‘Leigh. I don’t know how to ... I… I’m ever so sorry, but I …’

‘She’s smashed your car up!’ Netta’s conclusion was so triumphant, I thought she must have somehow seen the damage. I wondered what the repairs were going to cost.

‘You’re not hurt…?’

Faith grinned, impishly. ‘I forgot to put any petrol in and the gauge is just above empty. Sorry.’ She stuck out her tongue at Netta and laughed at us.

I had to join her. It was the first time she’d ever played such a trick and it marked another major change in her.

Netta, however, wasn’t amused. ‘Bitch!’

The following day was her eighteenth birthday. I couldn’t accept she was so young. She behaved in so many ways like a mature woman and looked the part, though her tantrums and sulks were much more symptomatic of her real age.

I had the day off for her. Ma, reluctantly, catered for a party. Netta didn’t to want the guests from my party to attend hers.

‘Too many women.’

Matilda brought some of their mutual men friends who seemed uncomfortable in the house until drink settled them.

As was to be expected, the night was Netta’s.

To Netta’s amazement and mine, Faith had bought her the most extraordinary dress whilst she’d been away. The fabric was sheer black gauze that, on its own, would have left nothing to the imagination. A wide gold lame snake looked over one shoulder with red eyes of sparkling sequins, its forked red tongue licking at the nipple beneath. It draped across that sleeveless shoulder around her back and then spiralled her body, crossing her other breast and then her mound of Venus to end in a tail of red and black beads on one leg. The hem echoed the diagonal of the twisting snake so that it hung to her knee where the tail fell but rode just under her hip at the other side. Faith had bought a skimpy gold bra and thong to go underneath as well as a pair of gold stiletto sandals. Netta was entranced by the gift and wore it for the party, with the sandals, but without the underwear. She looked sensational.

Inevitably, she talked the other men and I into a photo session along the lines of that held on my birthday, with similar group photographs but with herself as the only woman, of course, amongst the men.

Before the evening was over, she’d removed her dress publicly, dancing to Dion singing The Wanderer and privately, when she vanished for portions of the night with different young men.

I made up for her temporary desertion by spending a pleasant interlude with Matilda.

Faith remained her usual chaste self during all of this, though her previous moral superiority seemed to have given way to a careful curiosity.

I watched my protégée that night and wondered what she’d learned during her week away. I was convinced she remained virgin, yet the lesson had been sexual; her demeanour was so markedly different regarding sex. It was as if she’d discovered some of its delights without being in any way marked by it.

Faith dressed that night in a white cotton dress, sleeveless, with a wide scoop neck that revealed as much as it concealed of her breasts. Gathered at the waist, the skirt fell in soft rounded pleats to mid thigh. Simple white sandals displayed her small feet and she looked altogether lovely. The men certainly found it impossible to keep their eyes off her even with Netta cavorting naked amongst them.

There was a slightly sour interlude mid evening when one of the young men lit up in the sitting room and refused Faith’s firm but polite request to stub it out or to go outside. Fortunately, I was close at the time and gave him the choice of putting it out or leaving.

When the early hours took me to bed, I found Netta beside me, eager for my body. I let her have her way and she reached a climax so rapidly I knew she’d been primed by another man unable to take her all the way.

‘You’re still the best I’ve ever had, Leigh.’

I kissed her breasts and drew her head toward me so I could reach her lips. She resisted for a moment.

‘That’s why I did it, you know. I wanted to be absolutely certain I hadn’t made a mistake. Tonight told me how right I am to stay with you.’ Satiated and exhausted, she relaxed and slumped exactly where she was.

I gently lifted her away and lay her to sleep. It was a while before I was relaxed enough to join her, but it was her birthday, after all. Her words disturbed me with their promise of a permanence I neither sought nor desired.

As sleep at last crept over me, I was aware of Faith making her way softly up the stairs and I wondered where she’d been and what she’d been doing until now.

###

If you're impatient for the next chapter, you can buy the book in paperback or ebook format for whatever ereader you use, just click on the cover picture or visit ‘My Books’. If you do, I’d appreciate a review, posted wherever possible - Amazon, Goodreads, Smashwords, or any other bookish site. Reviews get indie published books noticed, you see.

Tweet with me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/@stuartaken
Like my author page on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/StuartAken

Read on Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4234877.Stuart_Aken

Stumble with me: http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/stuartaken

Pin with me here: http://pinterest.com/stuartaken/

Buy my ebooks via Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/stuartaken

USA readers, see my author page on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/stuartaken

(for some odd reason, this type of link isn't yet available on Amazon for UK)

Join my professional connections on LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/stuart-aken/22/1b6/aaa

Related articles

• Read my Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 32
• Read my Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 31
• Read my Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 30
• Read my Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 29

Are Traditions and Customs Really Worth Keeping?

Image via Wikipedia

Such a question will inevitably promote discussion, debate and perhaps some outrage at the mere suggestion. But, before I say my piece and invite your comments and contributions, perhaps I should define the terms, so that we all know what we're discussing:

Tradition is defined as belief, custom, etc., passed along from generation to generation by non-written means; those beliefs, collectively; established and accepted practice or custom; principles held and generally followed by a branch of the arts, adopted from and handed down through experience and practice; doctrine regarded as possessing divine authority with no written evidence; the spoken messages of Christ and the apostles, passed on by word of mouth through generations; words and actions of Muhammad not incorporated in the Qur'an but transmitted orally before being recorded.

Custom is held to be habitual or common practice; a usual way of behaving; usage, fashion or habit; established usage which, because it has continued for a long time, has taken on the force of a law or right.

The world is overrun with examples of custom and tradition; many are religious in origin, others stem from early ignorance of certain realities, yet others have developed as responses to threats from outside the boundaries set by those groups practicing them. We, mostly, take such things for granted and promote their continuance without much thought for either their origins or their real social effects. So, is any harm done by such continuation? Is it possible that some customs and traditions are not good things?

Let's look at some of the most popular and widespread. Christmas is almost on us. This celebration of the birth of a notable prophet, a figure responsible for the formation of one of the world's great religions, is touted as a demonstration of love, generosity and general goodwill to all men. Peace and harmony are tied into the very meaning of this tradition. So, can it be seen in any way as other than a good thing?

Well, the timing of the ceremony, as most people are aware, is way off if it is an actual commemoration of the prophet's birth, since it's believed he was actually born in the summer months. So, the first aspect I question is the lack of honesty in the dating. Of course, it's well known that the old Pagan ceremony that was traditionally held at the mid-winter point long before Christianity came on the scene, was hijacked by the church in order to allow the celebrants to more readily accept the new religion. So, the timing of the celebration immediately takes on the nature of a con-trick, something devised to make more palatable a set of beliefs that were at variance with those of the people it was invented to convert. Such trickery is hardly the way to promote a doctrine that purports to have truth at its heart, I think.

In Islam, the position of the woman is traditionally that of subordinate; traditionally, though not according to the holy book of the faith. The Qur'an states quite clearly that men and women are of equal value and worth. However, the later commentaries, supposedly recorded as the words and actions of the prophet, Mohammed, are open to interpretation that women are rightly considered subordinate to men. Such downgrading of the gender would fit in well with the beliefs of a man brought up in a brothel, of course. And they fit in well with the traditions of a culture which has regarded women as goods and chattels since the beginning of recorded history. One has only to look at the ethnic communities where Islam first developed and note the custom of awarding their leaders numerous wives and concubines to see that the male attitude to the position of women in such societies was less than generous. The Islamic belief that men who are martyred in the cause (whatever that cause may be determined to be) will be rewarded by an eternity in paradise served by anything up to 72 virgin maidens, indicates that women are seen as the playthings and servants of men. No such reward awaits those women who sacrifice themselves to the cause, however. And, clearly, the fate of the 72 virgin maidens is hardly something to be relished. So, I question the custom and tradition held so dear by the sects of this religion in this regard.

The tradition of regarding pork as unclean, elevated to quasi-legal status in certain communities, stems from early observations that pig meat can cause many illnesses. Of course, with modern farming techniques and the knowledge that such meat must be well-cooked to avoid the problems, the risk has been reduced to similar proportions as those of eating any other meat. But it's noteworthy that the ban on eating pork remains. It's been enshrined into the culture of those communities and is upheld as something positive simply on the grounds that it is customary, traditional. Another example of the religious authorities being unwilling to accept that the basis for their laws might actually be questionable.

In certain parts of the Middle East and Africa it's customary for young women to be circumcised. This, of course, is a euphemism for brutal damage to the victims genitalia. The custom, carried out without anaesthetic, involves the removal of the clitoris and, frequently, the stitching together of the labia minor to prevent penetration. This tradition, often continued and encouraged by the mothers of the victims, is designed entirely to serve the men of the communities. The thought behind it is that women will not 'stray' if there is little pleasure for them in the sex act. The victim's stitched labia are cut open once the woman marries so that her husband may penetrate her, regardless of any pain she may suffer. This custom is defended by those within the community on the grounds that it is a long held tradition. And, of course, it the combination of the status of tradition with subliminal brain-washing that allows the mothers to continue to perpetrate this violence on their daughters.

I could go on. There are many examples of similar customs and traditions: wife burning at the death of a husband, the disfiguring of women who refuse a suitor's advances, the killing of daughters who 'dishonour' a family by refusing to marry the chosen husband. All, of course, with serious consequences for those affected. There are also lesser customs and traditions that do more subtle harm. The custom of the Abrahamic religions in their elevation of commerce to the level of some sort of divinely inspired activity, for example, has allowed business to proceed without any real concern about its effects on those who are less well off. And the custom of giving at Christmas, whilst producing some very real generosity of spirit as well as actual charity, has caused many millions to put themselves into debt in order to avoid being thought either mean or too poor to give as much as their neighbours.

So, to return to my question: is it possible that some customs and traditions are not good things? I think you'll know my answer, but I'm interested to learn yours. Are you willing to get involved in the discussion here? It's easy enough to make a comment below.