The Best Week Of My Life_(1)

Monday

Looking back, it’s hard to believe that the best week of my life started out as possibly the worst. And that was on top of a previous week in which my luck had really plunged to an all-time low. Not only had I managed to lose my job, have my car stolen and throw away a grand playing poker, I’d been dumped by my girlfriend just as I’d been on the verge of proposing. So not good, but I remained philosophical.

Being fired, I could handle. Unhappy in my job for the past six months and constantly on the lookout for something better, it could well have do me a favour in the long run. The theft of the black XR3i was harder to take, more for sentimental than monetary reasons. The last link to a rapidly eroding youth, the car had been my most faithful companion for over a decade. The loss of the money I could have done without, given my newfound unemployment, though hopefully the insurance payout would cover the debt.

So whilst they were irksome losses, none were terminal. Unlike the fourth and final indignity when Debbie, my girlfriend of five years, informed me in no uncertain terms that I was history. She gave me a week to pack my things and get the hell out of her life and, no, she didn’t want to discuss it. Not only did I lose the lover I’d considered spending the rest of my life with, but the roof over my head too. So when things get that bad, they can only get better, right? Well, not immediately as it transpired.

Cycling back from football practice late that evening, with the iPod on full blare, in my troubled state of mind I failed to notice the big black beamer edging out of the junction, and its driver evidently hadn’t noticed me. With no chance to brake or swerve, there was literally nowhere to go. Crunch. The front wheel buckled immediately upon impact, sending the back wheel and my sorry arse into orbit, body arcing through the air in slow motion like something out of a dream sequence.

Fortuitously – or surely I’d not be here now to tell the tale – on the downward descent a part of my anatomy glanced off the car. That upended my rapidly descending body so that the left knee took the brunt of the impact upon touchdown with the ground. And that I guess saved my sorry life. Though that’s not to say it wasn’t possibly the most painful thing I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness in thirty years on earth, especially when combined with the shock. However, my pained howling was surpassed by the banshee wail of the strawberry blonde teenaged driver in corduroys and padded jacket who jumped theatrically from the vehicle, hand on mouth. “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, what have I done?” she repeated mantra-like.

Clutching a bloodstained and throbbing knee I glanced up, cursing through grtitted teeth. My mobile phone and iPod shattered in pieces on the ground around me, I urged her to call an ambulance. Through the haze of pain, I heard a mumble about the battery being dead. The road desolate, after gaining a semblance of composure the young girl reached down to help me up. A hand resting on her shoulder I hopped forward, every step like a hammer blow to the kneecap. With a huge exhalation I fell onto the back seat of the huge car and curled up in the foetal position. “My mum’s a nurse, she’ll know what’s best,” she heralded breathlessly. “Just hang on, and we’ll be home in no time.”

Her words offered a crumb of comfort and, with the pain levelling out numbly, I observed in the rearview mirror that she was a pretty, albeit scared, young thing. Quite how one so young came to be in possession of a powerful BMW, God only knew. Tiny pale hands shaking on the steering wheel, her eyes were puffy from weeping. One could be forgiven for thinking she was the victim rather than the perpetrator. “We’ll be there soon,” she promised, as if I were at death’s door. “What’s your name?”

“Steven,” I groaned.

“I-I-I-I’m Ally.”

Little time for pleasantries, I tried my best not to bleed all over the seat of the nice car, holding a rapidly reddening handkerchief to the torn and gaping wound. A relatively short journey seemed to take forever as Ally continued to offer reassurances. Easing into a driveway the girl alighted briskly with a vow to come back straight away with help. Keeping her word, she returned with an older woman, presumably her mother. In my pained state, I assessed they were probably teenaged and mid thirties respectively. The older woman’s hair was a redder hue than her daughter’s, dancing at her shoulders as she bent into the car to survey the grumbling patient.

Between the pair they hobbled me inside the house and onto a warm soft sofa. Seeing my ripped and bloodstained jeans for the first time in a proper light, immediately the girl burst into tears, fleeing the room as her mother assumed control of the situation. Locating a pair of scissors she started to snip away at the denim. As my leg jerked, the pain became unbearable, and I hissed and spat until I was told in no uncertain terms to act like a man, not a boy.

So I did, peering down the front of the woman’s blouse as she bent forward over me. Unbuttoned at the neck, the tops of a pair of smooth, rotund and lightly freckled breasts, clad cosily in a lacy cream half-cup bra, were clearly visible down the front. A welcome sight, a less welcome tightening grasped my groin. “I’m Alison’s mother,” she said, almost catching me peeking as our eyes locked for a second. “Bonnie.”

“Steven,” I replied with a grimace, eyes drawn once more to the matronly bosom.

I caught a half-smile, a brief acknowledgement on her mature yet pretty face and in those piercing emerald eyes. Leaving the delectable titfest on display, Bonnie continued her snipping, careful not to inflict further pain on the crocked knee. Working around the site of the wound, up my thigh and finally cutting the waist, she eased aside the flaps of ruined rhubarb-stained denim to reveal a garish and bruised wound. “Ouch,” she mouthed, “that looks nasty. We’ll need to get you along to the hospital, I’m afraid Steven.”

“Anything you can give me till then,” I appealed, forcing a pained expression.

She smiled knowingly. “I’ll dress it for you and fetch some painkiller.”

I thanked her, wincing as she departed, feeling like a young cub deprived of its mother. Barely daring to look at the injury, a sense of morbid curiosity made me unable to stop myself. The flesh on the kneecap was shredded, some bone visible. Leaning back, I let go a huge yelp, stopping only when my attention was drawn elsewhere. Cocking an ear, I could hear raised voices in the next door room. Glancing around the well kept lounge, the women were visible to me in a large mirror that was tilted at just the right angle. I could see everything going on in the kitchen from this position on the sofa. “Daddy is going to be so mad, he’s going to kill me,” cried Ally, her eyes red-ringed.

“And so he should,” replied Bonnie, stern-faced.

Ally’s legs collapsed beneath her and she curled up, whimpering at her mother’s feet. Surveying the sorry scene, I actually began to feel guilty for having been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Leaving her daughter cowering on the floor, Bonnie returned with a bowl of warm water and a little green first aid box bearing a white cross on the side. Using cotton wool and surgical spirit to clean the wound and disperse the congealed mass of almost black blood, she offered words of comfort as I sucked hard at the air. Padding and sealing the wound, she took me by surprise by stroking my upper thigh, congratulating me on my bravery and how big and strong I’d been.

I smiled a little uncomfortably, saying it was nothing really. Oh but it was, she gushed and I was very big and very strong, she repeated, lips parting ever so slightly, almost seductively. Her soothing palms massaged higher, causing me to exhale then blush a deep scarlet. Mesmerised as those lovely tits jiggled seductively inside the blouse, the nipples seemed to inflate to press at the light material. It was way beyond the call of duty but I wasn’t complaining.

Her hands felt good there, really good, causing my cock to up another notch. Concealed inside a baggy pair of boxer shorts, it rose to touch the material and I thought for a moment she might just slide a hand inside the hem. Instead Bonnie issued an unsubtle lustful little sigh before dispensing the glass of cold water and the painkillers and lightly touching my brow. “You’ll live, Steven,” she whispered, standing to pirouette and exit.

Almost immediately the sedatives kicked in, doubtless super strength hospital issue and I began to feel heady – and not a little horny. Her arse, as it wiggled off, was damn near perfect, not too big, not too small, showcased nicely in a pair of skin tight jeans.