The sequel to How I Ended Up Fucking My Girlfriends Mum - Names have been changed to protect the innocent (and guilty!)
When I was with my ex, I started working with her dad Jim. It was the towns worst kept secret that the family was dodgy and her dads ever growing empire had a hand in just about every cash generating business in the district. Through family and business circumstances Jim and I became like best mates. With the help of a little bit of nepotism I worked my way into a C-level executive role overseeing the group of companies and became his right-hand man on all legitimate business affairs.
My relationship with Jim’s daughter Karly went downhill around the same time Jim’s marriage went sour. One of Jim’s companies owned a couple of adjacent flats in a trendy West End apartment block that were being used for short term lets like air-bnb. At the time it seemed like a great idea for us to make use of these flats and live like a couple of bachelors.
Corporate entertainment expenses went through the roof. We were out almost every night for “business meetings” eating at expensive restaurants and were in nightclubs and strip clubs multiple times a week. One time we even decided to throw a board meeting in Dubai, much to the joy of the other company directors. Suddenly physical attendance was back in favour as opposed to Zoom meetings. I wonder why?...
Our flats made brothels look like holy chapels with the amount of debauchery happening and the different women constantly coming and going. Quite simply, we were off the rails and fuelling each other’s delinquency. I would say I don’t know how our new neighbours put up with us, but I do. Jim had a reputation.
As well as the casual hook-ups, party girls and escorts flowing in and out of the building, Jim’s flat also had its fair share of shady characters making appearances. One such nefarious individual was Kenny Carson. Jim introduced Kenny as “Houdini”…
“He makes witnesses disappear and escapes a jail sentence every time.”
I needed no introduction to Kenny. His face was never out of gangland news articles. Kenny wasn’t tall or physically intimidating but he had a city-wide reputation for coke dealing and extreme violence. He was always tooled up and never went anywhere without his driver/minder. If that wasn’t enough, his nickname left you under no illusions as to the type of person he was.
I was getting ready for one of our midweek nights out. When I walked across the landing into Jim’s flat my mood plummeted. Jim and Kenny were sitting in the lounge bumping lines of powder. Them being high as kites at this stage of the evening meant either we wouldn’t make it out the door, or Kenny would be joining. That would ruin my evening. I didn’t want to be looking over my shoulder all night in case that crackpot started fighting with randoms.
The only reason I stayed was that there was a 10/10 sitting on the couch who I would soon find out was Layla. She piqued my interest. She was staring into her phone, being completely ignored by Jim and Kenny who were talking at each other like a couple of dialled up auctioneers. I had no idea who Ms Mysterious was but assumed she was probably a high end call girl or one of the gold diggers that would often be seen hanging around. She sat unphased, looking glamourous with her long flowing jet-black hair, perfectly proportioned body complimented by a tight black dress, and beautiful olive skin tone. She had Lebanese parents which explained her Mediterranean good looks. She was my type, I was intrigued. I grabbed a beer and joined the boys.
I caught Layla’s glances a few times but we did not utter a word to each other. Then I felt a laser beam burning a hole in me. She was staring, but when our eyes met, she looked away and smirked. I took the opportunity to offer her a drink and give her a bit of chat. I was overly confident during this spell of my life, but I could tell Layla was visibly taken back by my forwardness and compliments. I would soon find out why.
“You’re Kenny’s wife??”
WIFE! I didn’t even know this man had a wife. It was not something I considered given the shenanigans that went on in Jim’s flat when Kenny was there. Oh man, I had really put my foot in it here. Chatting up Kenny Carson’s wife whilst he was sat right there. Maybe the only saving grace was he was too busy chatting at 200mph to realise. I went to the kitchen to pour myself something a little stronger. Layla followed me in. I apologised for my boldness. She laughed.
“You’re ok, it’s been a while since a young guy tried to chat me up.”
With her being 33 and me being in the final years of my 20’s, there wasn’t much in it, but the comment put me at ease. This was supposed to be Layla’s birthday night out and somehow she ended up in Jim’s, watching her madman of a husband get off is rocker.
Eventually we managed to get out the front door and Layla decided that she wanted to head to the Rewind club to dance [what was left of] the night away. Rewind was a nightclub for the 25+ crowd indirectly owned by Kenny, so it was an easy and obvious choice.
We were in the club for less than 10 minutes before Jim and Kenny done a disappearing act (I guess he takes this Houdini thing seriously). I assumed they went into office to snort more blow but it was the last we seen of them. Layla eventually dragged me up to dance, where we spent the rest of the night. The more drunk we got, the more it became a game of seeing how close we could get to each other before we crossed a line of it just being a bit of fun on the dancefloor. It was a dangerous game, but this wasn’t the first time thinking with my dick had got me into fucked up situations.
As the end of the night approached there was still no sign of the gruesome twosome. As soon as we walked out of the club Kenny’s driver who was parked just up the road started beeping and flashing the headlights of his Range Rover. The whole gang was inside.
“Where the fuck did you two go?” I asked jokingly.
“Ask no questions, hear no liesss” Kenny replied in a mischievous tone.
It was best to never know what that madcap was doing, it would only drag you further into his world. I was sad the night was ending. I enjoyed Laylas company but didn’t know when, if ever I would see her again.
The next morning, I woke to the usual barrage of notifications. Mostly work stuff, but the one that stood out was Instagram: “Layla Carson has requested to follow you.”
I accepted the request, followed back and before I could finish telling myself to tread carefully a message popped up.
“Hey, how’s the hangover? x”
That message lead into months of chatting daily. We could talk for hours and never run out of things to say. Our connection was so easy and natural, it felt like we had known each other forever, but neither one of us dared to make a move beyond flirting and deep conversation.
On New Years Eve I was in a different town a few miles away, celebrating with some old friends and family. Layla was hosting a party for her salon staff at the Grand Western, a big fancy venue which was coincidentally just along the road from my flat. She sent a few selfies early in the night. My god she looked stunning, done up to the nines in an all black mesh top/leather skirt combo. At some point during the night, she sent a single smiley face emoji with no context or message. Then a bit later followed up with:
“Sooo what are you up to after midnight. Chatting up a girl and taking her back to yours I guess? x [upside down smiley face]”
In a moment of madness where the blood rushed from my brain to my dick, I took the bait and replied.
“Got my eye on this gorgeous Lebanese girl, probably going to ask her.” SEND
No no no! Have you ever sent a message and immediately wanted the world to swallow you up whole. Too late, she was already typing… Two replies rapid fire.
“Uhh, she’ll probably say yes.”
“She’ll probably do what you tell her to.”
It wasn’t long after midnight and I was in a taxi heading back to my place. When I pulled up Layla was already standing inconspicuously at the side of the building smoking a drunk cig. She took her heels of before going in the main door to avoid making any more noise than necessary.
As soon as we were inside my flat I pinned her between myself and the door and went straight in for a long, sloppy kiss. It was an explosion of feelings and emotion that had built up for months. We continued into the bedroom. The foreplay was lengthy and intense. We spent ages kissing hard, groping and dry humping. We were both lost in this long-awaited moment, just enjoying each other.
I flipped her onto her stomach, peeled off her skirt and thong and took my time playing with and teasing her, grabbing and spanking her arse, eating her pussy from behind, then biting and kissing her butt cheeks before my mouth made its way to her tight asshole. Layla arched her back. Her exposed pussy and arse pointing into the air at that moment is one of the most erotic visions ever retained in my memory to this day.
I slid myself inside her. She was dripping wet. Her pussy fit like a glove. Layla’s moans were raunchy and lustful. Not over the top. Noises that signalled her pleasure in the sexiest way you could imagine. I had a grip of her hips as I pounded away. It was raw, primal and hard. As I started coming inside her I felt weightless. Months of sexual tension all releasing in that moment. Hours of pent-up sexual energy and desire unloading itself while I was still deep inside her.
The connection and closeness we felt in the moments after, as we lay kissing and caressing each other was surreal. I cannot think of a time in my life where it has been replicated. I don’t know where the night went, but suddenly it was 7am. I could not understand how we lost so many hours.
It was a harsh snap back to reality when Layla looked at her phone and had about 29 missed calls and a hundred messages. She made a hasty exit…
Hang on a minute! Had I just been pumped and dumped? It would have served me right for all the irresponsible casual sex and one night stands I had over that last year or so.
I lost the full New Years Day to sleep and recovery that year. On the 2nd of January when I finally normalised, I sensed something was not right. Layla had not messaged. My Whatsapp message to her failed to deliver. Her Instagram account was deleted. Then I seen that I had a voicemail. It was from Jim:
“Listen, I don’t care what you get up to mate but that psycho Houdini thinks you’ve been shagging his Missus. She’s denying it obviously, but he’s full of sniff and on the warpath. He’s been warned not to do anything stupid, but you know what he’s like. Keep the head down for a bit. Maybe think about taking a wee holiday to one of the Spanish properties.”
The message was chilling. “A wee holiday to Spain” was what people in Jims world done when they needed to go into hiding from the law or other gangsters. There was nothing “wee” about it. It was usually indefinite. I wasn’t about to go on the run, but this was the kick up the arse I needed to get back on the straight and narrow and take a step back from this unsustainable lifestyle. I was never confronted by Kenny.
Shortly after this story took place Kenny Carson was arrested following an ongoing investigation into organised crime. He had been under police surveillance for months.
Jim eventually moved back into the family home with his wife and daughters. His businesses continue to thrive to this day.