A Life Plan Without You. Read online

  A Life Plan: Without You...

  Book One of the Life Plan Series.

  By Christine Wood

  Copyright © by C Wood 2014

  Published at Smashwords

  Any resemblance to people, events and places,

  Written within the pages of this book is purely coincidental.

  As this is a work of total fiction. As this is a work of total fiction.

  There are significant sexual references and uses of language unsuitable for people under the age of eighteen…

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

  The story is told in the main, through the eyes of Michelle but Sam’s point of view is given too, but in slightly different text, Italic, please enjoy…

  Introduction…

  I dance here at Ridgley’s Dance Studio every Friday night and have done for the past nine years. It’s my wonderful world away from the worry and strife in my young life. I love this place and the dancing I do, because it’s such a great way for me to relieve my stress. I leave my care’s and woe’s on the other side of the studio doors. This was something both my sister Becky and I had started to please our Great-Aunt Elizabeth, who lived next door to us. She loved to dance and encouraged us to take it up, nay demanded it almost.

  “All proper young ladies have to learn to dance girls. It adds grace, poise and helps with one’s posture…” She said as she signed us up to dance lessons, it was the best thing she ever did, well that and her cheese and onion pies… Dreaming again… That seems like so long ago now; she’d also paid for all our lessons, examination costs and presentation outfits every year too. She is just the perfect person to have in your life and she is also my saviour from mum, how her door hadn’t been slammed off its hinges by now beggars belief…

  So, ballroom dancing became a big part of my life away from home and school. There were only a few at school and college who knew about my dancing, mainly because they were having lessons too. It’s considered to be old fashioned and nerdy, but this is my reason for living. I loved it, I lived for it and I was really quite good at it.

  I normally have my private lessons with Ellie Frost, my partner for the last couple of years. However, I’ve been alone for the last few weeks, she has a suspected broken ankle from her ski trip with her new best friend, Karen-Bloody-Manning, she is the bane of my life and the biggest bitch-troll-ho I know her and her bloody equally bitchy thug like sisters, the Manning Maniacs.

  I had people in my school life who were there just to make it and my life there intolerable, it was shit they’d succeeded and Karen-Bloody-Manning was the final ringmaster of the bullying circus that was better known as secondary school. I probably could have sorted all my problems there by just by hitting the one bitch that made my life so bloody miserable, but hell that wasn’t my way.

  Besides, she was Miss-Flipping-Popular and if I’d have hit her the others would only want to have a go at me too. Plus… Quite a big plus actually, her big sister Lorraine, she was built like a wrestler and fought like one too. She was something else, a mean and nasty piece of work… She was the hardest of five Manning sisters, she was number four of the five Manning girls and all of them at some point had managed to get a kick in, sometimes literally, them in their expensive designer trainers, I knew very well the imprint of their flashy Sergio Tacchino trainers by the end of any given day at secondary school, they were all forever taunting me and abusing me.

  Fight back people said, yeah right, given that even most of the lads in school gave her sister Lorraine a wide berth, I wasn’t about to piss her off any time soon by smacking her beloved little sister Karen. Karen was the fifth and final one of the Manning bitches. Lorraine was the retiring year five bully, when I was in my fourth year, so I then had only to deal with Karen, great I thought, Karen I can handle but Lorraine didn’t go far, she only went next door to Stockton Technical College, to do mechanics, damn the girl didn’t need a jack to lift the car, she could probably pick the thing up, such was her strength!

  Gosh, her mum was a busy lady, five girls in five years. She had my deepest admiration, or my sincerest sympathy, I’m not sure which choice was more appropriate accolade to award her with? If the rumours are true, her husband had her trying for a boy. Why he needed one, when all his girls fought like shipyard dock workers was a mystery?

  Karen therefor was handed the crown by default of name in year five; she was the last of the fighting Manning’s to attend Stockton Secondary Modern. She and her sisters for nearly seven painful years had been my enemies and worst nightmare. I really wanted to knock her senseless, because I could and easily, but with a criminal record I couldn’t go in the Royal Navy, so I kept my head down and carried on.

  Karen followed in all her sister’s famous footsteps to the title cock of the school, or was that head hen? Her older sister Lorraine, she retired last year and was both cock and hen of the school, the year before her was Monica, such a proud family they must be, before Monica came the bullying sister called Elaine. Elaine, she followed on from the very first of the Manning Maniacs, Rachel. So for the five years I attended Stockton Modern, I had been the focus of bullying by all the Moronic Manning Mobsters at one time or another.

  Rachel Manning, was the one who started the bully ball rolling, she was the one that ducked my head in the toilet on that most memorable of days, the day she and her four sisters, actually started making my senior school days horrid and for a fair percentage of the time I spent it miserable and wet, how did I come to be the focus of the Five Bitch Troll Sisters?

  That was not an easy day for me to forget, it was the worst day ever in all my years at school and one they still talk about today… Some snigger, whilst others still pity me. It’s now a story they use to frighten every single newbie year one girl with, as they enter those big bad school gates on their first day in big school.

  Since time immemorial there has been a laughed at rumour, an urban myth, a whispered legend that really does exist, the one were the head school bully threatens you with the welcome to big school treat … Yeah that’s right I know of its existence because I was the girl who actually received that initiation test…. After that day I was mocked and abused for weeks, after I received the time old threat of the push of your head down the toilet whilst your head’s held there as they flush the chain. I became a school yard joke, what caused that particular day to be so hurtful and memorable, Rachel-Bloody-Manning…

  I wasn’t looking where I was going, I was in awe at the sheer size and sounds within the big school, no longer was I sitting in one chair all day each and every day, today I had to walk from classroom to classroom for a different more grown up lesson. I was happy excited and yeah really nervous, it was different because it was cool, fun and all new to me and the hundred or more first year kids, most of whom I had never seen before. I was busy looking at my new timetable and desperately trying to remember where the art classroom was, I didn’t see her and wam, I barged straight into Rachel making her spill orange juice all over her new head girl shirt.

  It didn’t fit her anyway, the buttons didn’t fasten and she needed the next size up and she didn’t appreciate me wetting her through nor telling her that her boobs were way too big to wear such a small blouse and perhaps she should get her mum to buy her a bigger one. I should have kept my big mouth shut, because I learnt that lesson the ha
rd way, my head down the loo and the toilet flushed.

  So, as a consequence of my actions I would need reminders often that I needed to learn how to shut-the-fuck-up! That was the day my years of bullying at the hands of all five Manning Sisters began… Karen was left alone, she wasn’t as hard as they were, but her sisters still looked after their little sister, she is under the mistaken illusion I am frightened of her, she’s so wrong, so bloody wrong, them yes but her no.

  I’m told karma is a bitch, I have to hope so, I pray for it to happen quickly… I’m often told, by my close friends and I do have them, to use what God has given me, my powerful opinions, (err no thanks, because using that is what started my seven years of hell at the hands of the Manning Sisters.) My clever mouth and quick wit? (See reason number one, why this is also not another good option.) My awesome right hook would to give them payback for what they did to me. (I didn’t want to piss off any of the Manning siblings, one I may be able to handle but all five, lord no they came together like a pack of baying wolves when any of them were challenged.)

  I don’t like to fight… I can, but I just chose not to, I’ve had boxing lessons for years with my daddy, proper ones in a gym too, with gloves, head guard and mouth guards, I’m good at it my trainer says, my fighting name is the ‘Fighting Princess,’ I haven’t had an actual match because I’m doing them for fun and self-defence reasons, the nick name came about when I decked a man who pushed a button on the wrong day, happy days, but dad stopped me going after summer was over, my trainer said nobody wanted to hit a lady! Damn it getting these boobs cost me my place at the gym, because dad said I needed to be a lady not a brawler, ha I wish.

  Whilst at school and college, I am very quiet my head is always in a book, I’m never late and I’ve never missed a day or a lesson in nearly seven years. I studied and got on with my life, despite the bullying I had to endure, I went in day in day out not knowing what joys the day would bring. The bullying was near non-existent, apart from the cat calling and bitching; as I don’t see a lot of Karen-Bloody-Manning her minions don’t bother me in college. (We’re on different courses thank the lord.) The bullying is now down to name calling and the backstabbing, which I can handle with ease, my smart mouth here is witty and way smarter than theirs!

  My group of friends, who despite our odd fall out and boyfriend troubles are amazing and we are all still close friends, we have stood together through thick and thin, (body issues were a constant moan and bitchfest!) Good boys and bad boys, spots, bad hair days and yes, we doled out the chocolate and sympathy to whoever was on her period, comfort on those bitchfest days was well received and much needed, yes there were a lot of those days, cuddles weren’t necessary for me, what I needed was a heck of a lot of restraining, they were the worst days ever because I snapped back at whichever troll was goading me, then I’d spend the breaks in the library, in fear of a reprisal attack.

  Even through all those trials and tribulations of secondary school bullying hell for me, they were there for me and helped me up when I was pushed over, dry me when I was wet or passed me a hanky and dried my tears, they had long since stopped telling the teachers I was being bullied, because I denied it time after time. I said nothing had happened it had been my clumsy fault. They had said they would hurt my sister or friends if I said anything, so I kept my silence, even from my friends…

  The bullying finally ended when me and most of our group moved on to college, where we still continue to be the best of friends. We were at school collectively known as the Goody Goodies, Teacher's Pets, Swot Grots, The Nerds or rather imaginatively and because of my hair, the Hair Bear Bunch, that nickname was used the most, it even followed us to college because it was used by the immature Neanderthals that most of my group had dated.

  We are just normal nice and friendly girls and an eclectic mix of old friends, most of who had shock horror been in our band of buds right from nursery school, we added a couple of new faces in secondary school as we were willing to be friends with anyone nice, (no bad girls were allowed though.) Our tight knit group still consists of two Mandy’s, a Tasha, a Sophia, two Debbie’s, two Kelly’s, one is Welsh Wasp, Kelly Pepper, two Sharon’s, two Julie’s and finally the three Michelle’s, the three M’s known as, the blonde one, the frizzy haired one, or the quiet one, when anyone asked which Michelle they were talking about. I was the one with the frizz! There was an awful lot of name confusion for the unknowing, but there was also a lot of love within our group.

  Hardly anything changed within the group, occasionally a girl would leave for pastures new or after a falling out, but she always returned when she discovered that the grass wasn’t in fact greener on the other side of the playing field. Other than the boyfriends the other girls had, (now they changed all the time,) the most drastic changes however were those our teenage bodies went through, they were the funniest, especially where the boobs were concerned, but alas the only thing to blossom for me at this time, was in fact my frizzy curly brown hair, it got way out of control and was not easily managed it didn’t like being brushed or combed it looked at times like I had a brown candyfloss wig on, which was how my nickname ‘Hair Bear’ came about and no I do not live in the Wonderland zoo, but sometimes it feels like I do, my hair was the main target of mockery for those very sisters and the bitches who followed their every order.

  Life isn’t perfect and unfortunately we can’t all be buffed and quaffed to perfection. Most of us have some minor imperfections and my hair and lack of boobs were mine. My hair was only a problem because mum couldn’t afford the hairdressers, so like most other families, mum was our hairdresser and as she didn’t have a clue how to cut hair she would just hack at it, taking the same amount off all over and she really enjoyed hacking off mine, laughing and cutting away at the wild tendrils.

  “You can’t really tell if I mess it up.” She wasn’t joking either, it was awful before she started and a shorter awful when she’d finished, the last time she cut it she went too short and afterwards the people I met used to say ‘hey up son’ and bloody meant it, we had yet another row and as a consequence of my boy haircut, I stopped her cutting it back in year three as a protest until I had it cut at a hair salon, so due to the lack of spare money my hair would stay uncut! Great she said my hair was now my problem.

  My boobs finally came in too last summer; sheisk something else sent to try me, they began their belated appearance over the summer holiday, before my final year here at college. Just when I thought I would be as flat as pancake all my life too, the trainer bra had long since abandoned, why I needed to train them beggared belief, because they didn’t go anywhere.

  They started off as manageable little mounds and easily ignored as summer passed, so I continued on with my tomboy activities, (I wouldn’t drop the tracksuits, the scruffy joggers or the attitude.) I ran around and hung about with my cousin Michael and the lads, forgetting I had them for a while, I just had a great summer, swimming in the sea, running, skating and enjoying my perfect last summer before I finally had to grow up…

  My boobs turned into perfectly formed round and pert humps, I swear I went to bed one night and the next day I had them, something for my Cousin Michael and his friends to take the micky of, I hated them… By the start of this my last year at college, they decided to come complete with all the correct add on’s, those damn nipple things, now they were an awkward couple of additions!

  Apparently they stand to attention when you fancy a bloke? Nahah… Mine just did it when I was cold or bloody wet, sheisk or whilst on my daily run, they caused pervy men and boys to suddenly stop and either fall over or wolf whistle, gheeze. I now had to have a tee shirt on under my chef whites too, the nipple things when cold, looked dead funny and drew attention from the boys, because funny as it seemed to me, they had become man traps? I could have done without the hassle that went with them! What is it with boys and boobs and their constant need to be looking or fumbling with those self said items?

  Most of our merry g
roup of friends had tried and liked the kisses and fumbles, fumbles was woman code for supposed not quite full sex, man code for been there sealed the deal, I was so confused, because the girls didn’t want to admit they had and yet they boys boasted they had? It also seemed like a rite of passage into college, the loss of your virtue, mostly it seems with the lads that now it seems, formed an integral part of our cosy little girl group, not for me thanks, I’m fumble free and proud of it too.

  The lads or Neanderthals as I called them, came complete with all their rampant boy testosterone stuff, it seemed to rage through their spotty faced, voice cracking smelly bodies and they all of them, had an inbuilt attraction to those self-same boobs. I however didn’t think much of the choices available either. I’d only had a liking for a few of the lads whilst at school and only one other whilst in college. Even those I did like, either liked the pretty girls who did put out, or Kelly Pepper the Welsh wasp, had made a play for them before me and sorry, but I wasn’t for being anyone’s second choice. I’m though, as the song goes, still waiting for someone to come and tell me that he loves me.

  There is finally hope of that on the horizon, because I have fallen in lust with a mysterious stranger…

  Chapter 1.

  It’s Friday night again, but not my usual Friday night, this is a particularly special Friday night, I am going to do something different, I’m going to speak to the mystery man I’d fallen in lust with. Well, he’s not really a total mystery I knew his name. Mysterious, because apart from his name and age, I knew very little more about him, plus mysterious because I’d seen him around a lot of late, good for me because I got to hunk watch and good lord, he was just too damn drop dead gorgeous not to watch.