I the Juror

Please don't shed a single tear when I tell you it was the passing of my wife that led me to abandoning the country of my birth. Our marriage had already been on the downhill slide for a year or two before she learned of her illness, and I have no doubt that we would have eventually gone our separate ways. But I could not just abandon the woman I'd once loved and lived with for twenty plus years in her time of need. I stayed and nursed her through those terrible long months until the end, and I admit to shedding many tears as her time on this earth neared. But enough of this, for now I look forward to better times.

The real reason for leaving was that the cold wet London weather was taking its toll on my forty six year old body. I could feel my joints prematurely groaning in pain at the next onset of cold rainy weather, and I'd finally had enough. My eldest daughter had married a kiwi and immigrated to New Zealand a few years back. My subsequent visits to that fine beautiful country told of a different life, one of warm sun filled days and friendly people. The slower pace of life also made it a desirable place to live out the rest of my days, and please god may there be many of them. My last visit to that far away country resulted in visiting employment consultants, and I found that my skills as a business and contracts negotiator were in some demand. By the time I arrived back in London, there were three e-mails expressing interest in my services which really made up my mind to go. I was in the final process of getting my entry and work permits approved when I put my house on the market, and expected a long and drawn out sale period due to the usual London asking price. Amazingly, it sold in weeks and my asking price met on the condition of a fast hand over. With my belongings in storage, I soon found myself residing in a small but nice hotel suite with a bank balance that would make most people weep with joy. I patted myself on the back at the ease of which things were coming together, all I now needed was the finalisation of entry into New Zealand and off I could go. And then it all turned to custard.

A jury summons for the High Court arrived by mail, my attendance was required for a week close to when I planned to depart. I smiled smugly as I penned my reply for exemption based on my leaving the country. There have been few times that I can remember bureaucracy working so efficiency, but the courts contacted the New Zealand Embassy to verify my claim. The bottom line was that the courts brought my week of forward so that I could indeed do my duty before my departure. As you can imagine, my smug smile quickly disappeared at the news. As the court attendance neared, many friends gave me advice on how to get eliminated from jury selection. Dress in my best suit, smile at everyone in the court room, especially the prosecution and defence lawyers. It worked fantastically for the first case I was called on, but failed dismally on the second.

Davis McMann, a well known hoodlum had avoided conviction many times, much to the dismay of the constabulary and the law abiding citizens of greater London. He was a well known face, his many legitimate businesses shadowing the less lawful activities. Rumours of fraud, protection rackets, money laundering, people and drug trafficking were rife. There's an old saying, where there's smoke, there's fire, and in McMann's case it was likely to be a raging inferno. He was again to be tried before a jury of the land, the new charges both numerous and serious. If convicted, he would be in care of Her Majesty for a long lag, so there was a lot at stake, especially for Mr McMann.

The selected jury consisted of myself and six other men of various ages, five women made up the twelve. Seated for the first time, I took in the dynamics of the courtroom. The judge looked old and frail, but I would soon learn that under the remaining wisps of greying hair lay a brain of incredible intellect and strength. The prosecution was a mix of young and old, the inexperienced to no doubt learn from the more confident masters of their trade. The defence lawyer displayed his arrogance in no uncertain terms. Tall and over bearing dressed in suit that cost twice what mine had. His eyes raked the jury as if to assert his dominance over us. I smiled and gave him a wink, his resulting lingering stare identifying for the first time that there might be a trouble maker within our midst.

And then there was Davis McMann. He was in his late fifties and once had been a good looking man. But the good life had taken its toll of the big man, the bulbous nose of a drinker, his wide shoulders now dwarfed by stomach that stretched his suit jacket buttons. He still retained his vanity, his thinning hair carefully groomed to minimise the tell tale effect of pending baldness. But it was his eyes that gave away his savagery, for they glared angrily at all those who were against him; to me he was a man who no doubt could inflict devastation without a hint of remorse. The first indication of his nervousness was when the charges against him were read out for the court to hear, his head shaking in denial. The opening statement by the prosecution was strong and well delivered by a gifted orator, and McCann flinched at a summary of the evidence which was to be produced against him. With a smile and a shrug he tried to disarm those watching him, but his eyes told me another story. One of the many things I've learnt as a negotiator is that the eyes give away a lot, lies, truths, panic, sympathy, and indifference to name but a few. Watching McCann, I could tell he was a man under great pressure, which is normally a sign of guilt. In the first two hours of the case I had come to dislike the man and all he stood for.

I found myself seated between two jurors, a man a few years older than I who scribbled important points onto a pad as the case progressed, and young lady who I would later discover to be a student of the arts. Her notepad was quickly filled with caricatures of those in the courtroom, judges, lawyers, clerks and of course the defendant. I fought to retain my attention on the evidence, for the artist's pencil moved swiftly and confidently across the notepad, wild strokes and smears of lead magically turning into something recognisable. The best by far was of the defendant, his pronounced big nose and large stomach causing me to laugh aloud, my outburst raising eyebrow of the judge and brought me quickly back to the reality of the situation.

It took a day or so for me to place others of interest who sat in the public gallery. The first were two of McCann's goons. They were both large, menacing and dangerous looking men, the suits they were wearing looked as out of place as Tarzan wearing a ballet tutu. Their sole job where possible, was to intimidate the jury with penetrating stares and threatening body language, I just ignored them.

The other person of interest was a tall good looking blonde; which at our first break one of the jurors identified as McCann's wife. Question, why is it that some beautiful women are attracted to people like McCann? Sure, he might have been a ladies man some time back, but I would suggest that being married to a man like McCann would not be a bed of roses. This particular question intrigued me, and I found my eyes drifting in her direction on a regular basis. As time went on, she seemed to recognise my interest our eyes found each other more than often, but her face remained without emotion and it was difficult to read her thoughts. This was not missed by McCann, and I had to fight my desire to look in either direction. But my eyes seemed to be drawn to the elegance of Mrs McCann as she moved to and from her seat when the court took their breaks. She dressed well, and her expensive and classy clothes hugged her tall lean body attracting many lustful male and jealous female wandering eyes.

As the case rolled on, it became increasingly apparent that McCann was as guilty as sin. The police had invested a huge amount of resource and technology over a period of time before arresting him. They produced a long trail of irrefutable evidence, paper, electronic voice recordings as well as video surveillance. And as each moment passed, McCann's resolve began to slip away, his confidence gone and the worry of prison ever on his mind. Casual talk among us jurors long before the case was over was that McCann was guilty, and our deliberation on his verdict at the end was going to hopefully short. The case took eight days, and then judge gave us a final summing up before we were finally ready to retire and consider McCann's guilt or innocence. As it late in the afternoon, the judge allowed us to go home and return fresh the next day, and he made it very clear that a clear verdict was expected on each charge.

I ate out early with friends that night returning to my lonely hotel around seven. A nice glass of my favourite malt was at my lips when there was a knock at the front door. I was flabbergasted to find myself looking into the big eyes of Mrs McCann when I opened the door.

She smiled nervously at my surprise, "I think you know who I am. I'd like to have a few moments of your time, if that's all right."

Without thinking, I stepped back to make way for her to enter and then closed the door. She gazed around the hotel room for a second or two before turning to face me.

"Do you live here?" she asked.

"Temporary digs. Should you be here, and how'd you find out where I lived?"

"It's not complicated, my husband's got contacts every where." she suggested eyeing up my malt on the coffee table. "Can I have one of those?"

I fetched a glass and poured two fingers; she smiled as she took it from me, and then surprised me by sipping it neat.

"Very nice." she stated. "I don't know your name, mine's Susan."

"Jimmy."

"Well Jimmy, I've got a proposition for you, well two really."

Without asking, Susan stepped to the couch and sat down, it seemed kind of right for me to sit opposite her. She opened her black leather handbag, removed a bulging white envelope and placed it on the table beside her.

"My husband asked me to come here tonight to give this. Inside is ten thousand pounds as a down payment for a not guilty verdict. If he walks from the court a free man, there will be another ten thousand. He also suggested that I should offer you my body as a sweetener once he is a free man."

There have been few times in my life that I've been lost for words, this was certainly one of them. But I hid my surprise at the audacity of the bribe and looked across at McCann's wife. She looked even more stunning close up, while in her forties, her pale English rose skin was flawless, her facial features perfectly shaped. Her eyes were enchanting and her full lips alluring. She crossed her legs nervously under my scrutiny and brushed an imaginary hair from her well tailored trousers.

I smiled grimly, "Do you really think that your husband is going to walk away from this? While I'm not prepared to discuss my reasoning, I think your husband is guilty as sin and I suspect that the rest of the jury are thinking along the same lines."

Susan smiled and leaned forward on her chair, "That's good to hear, because you might find my second proposal more to your liking. While my husband wants his freedom, I don't. You're quite right when you say he's guilty. In fact he's guilty of a lot more than you think. You name it, he's into it, trafficking young European girls in the country for prostitution, and bring in all sorts of drugs. I know he's killed people, some at his own hands. He's a bad man Jimmy, and he needs to be put away for a long time."

My surprise was now complete, and my mouth stalled on the edge of my glass of malt, I lowered it and looked across at Susan.

"But he's your husband."

Susan shrugged her shoulders, "Yes he is, but not a good one. He's a violent drunk husband who fucks any thing in tights. The only reason I'm not wearing any bruises right now is he's been locked up pending the case. It's like being on vacation without him I can tell you. So, here's my proposal, you keep this ten grand and do your best to find him guilty. And as a sweetener, I'll sleep with right now. So, what do you think?"

Again I'm lost for words and stare stupidly across at Susan. She leaned back on the chair and sipped her malt while meeting my gaze.

"The sex thing is for pleasure Jimmy. It's been nearly a year since I've been shagged, and that's far too long. You're a very handsome man, and I'm more than a little attracted to you. All those days peering down at you in the jury box has raised my interest in sex, and tonight I'm horny as hell. I know that you're a widower and that there's no one in your life at the moment. So there's no real reason to say no."

"How do you know that?

Susan shrugged her shoulders, "My husband has had you followed from the day you were selected for the jury. He noticed your interest in me, and being the man he is, thought there might be a little leverage to be had. He found out where you live, where and what you like to eat and drink, and even who you socialise with. And at the moment there appears to be lack of female company."

All this was obviously a shock to me, and I sat in stunned silence at Susan's words. My thoughts turned to my leaving the country, but all of my incoming mail was picked up from a private mail box. My laptop security was high, so in reality unless they'd talked to someone in the know, my secret was safe. Susan mistook my silent contemplation as hesitation which suited me just fine.

"So Jimmy, are you going to tell me that you don't find me desirable? I'd find that hard to believe after our courtroom flirting. Tell me you don't want to sleep with me."

"You might be wasting your time, chances are that your husband's going to be found guilty, and sleeping with me will be of no consequence."

Susan laughed, "Hopefully true, but the thing is that I really want to sleep with you. I fancy you, but part of the fact is that this will be a little revenge on my husband. Don't you thinks it's a little ironic that he thinks that I might sleep with you gain his freedom, when in reality it's going to help putting him away for years. I just love it."

I had to grin and nod in agreement, for the audacity of it all was amusing to say the least.

"I'll have you know that I'm very good in bed." she suggested. "In saying that, besides my not so good husband, you'll first man I've slept with in twenty three years. So I look forward to your thoughts on my abilities. So Jimmy, tell me all about your love life. I bet you were a good husband."

Looking back on this moment, I could have easily lied, but there something about Susan that compelled me to speak truthfully.

"Yes, I was a good husband." I suggested. "I was unfaithful only once many years ago on a business trip abroad. A company I was dealing with arranged a lady for the night; it was fun at the time, but the guilt was hard to live with. I've never strayed since."

Susan frowned, "Kind of hard to believe Jimmy. You're a good looking man, and in your younger days the girls would have thrown themselves at you, not that they wouldn't now."

"I didn't say there weren't opportunities; it's just that I never took them up."

"That's pretty commendable, there isn't too many men who'd say no to a bit on the side." she replied. "What about when your wife was sick?"

That question hit a nerve and I shook my head, "I reckon it would have been worse then."

"And since?" she asked.

Again I shook my head.

"There's an underlying strength in you that's commendable Jimmy. But life's too short to dwell in the past. It's time for both of us to look to the future, we kind of need each other at the moment, don't you think?"

"But you're still married." I suggested.

Susan looked across at me for a few seconds, and then looked down at her left hand. I was surprised when she began to remove her wedding and engagement rings and then place them on the arm of the couch.

"My husband was a good man when I first met him Jimmy, maybe a bit naughty but I suppose that was the attraction. He's not the same man now, in reality, I've not been married for years. Anyway, I've had enough talking; right now I want to be loved."

Susan stood and unbuttoned her jacket and tossed it back onto the couch behind her. She stood before me so that I could look at her, but it was without slutty bravado or confidence. Her cream top hugged her shape following the curves of her breasts and narrow waist. Black trousers flowed nicely over her hips and then flared outwards over her thighs. After a few seconds she offered her hand and I reached out to accept it, and then I also got to my feet. She took my other hand in hers and stepped close, I caught the scent of her perfume as she leaned close and gently nuzzled my neck. We stood hand in hand as our lips met for the first time, little pecks and caresses before our tongues engaged and explored.

For me it was very strange, for I had not kissed a woman other than my late wife in passion for decades. I was nervous for this reason, and also that I knew the circumstances were wrong. But as the kisses continued, my worries of conspiracy and adultery waned. Our hands parted and began to slowly explore, and I soon found myself extremely aroused. Susan pushed against me and rubbed her stomach against my now obvious erection adding fuel to the fire. I eased her top upwards and Susan raised her arms so that I could remove it over her head, my eyes immediately feasting upon a slinky blue bra that restrained her ample cleavage. A chuckle escaped her lips she guided my face to it, and for a few seconds I kissed the top of her silky smooth breasts. My hands automatically dropped to her round buttocks, and she sighed deeply as I caressed her outer thighs. She twisted her stance so that my hand slipped between her slightly parted thighs, and then her legs sagged a few seconds later as my finger caressed that special little place.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." she moaned as I took her weight in my arms. "Take them off."

I fumbled with a set of twin buckles on her trousers and then lowered her zip. Susan's hands pushed them downwards, her body wriggling with urgency to get them down over her shapely thighs. Her shoes were flicked off and her trousers stepped out of exposing a matching pair of blue panties. Susan fell into my arms again, our lips locked in a passionate kiss. I felt her hand slip down to my trousers, and my belt and zip deftly discarded. Her hand reached under my briefs and gripped my erection guiding it between the warmth of her thighs. Our heights seem perfect, and for a short time our bodies rocked back and forth against each other as we kissed. I unclipped her bra and let slip from her body. Her breasts were just right, not too big, but certainly a nice pert handful. My mouth quickly found her nipples, and my little kisses and suckles were rewarded with moans of appreciation. Susan then reached downwards, lowered the front of her panties and guided my erection through her curls and wet lips. My shirt was removed along with my trousers, and I stood before Susan McCann wearing only a very proud erection. We began move against each other with a little more intensity. While actual penetration was impossible while standing, my cock sat very nicely between her moist lips until Susan stepped backwards and suggested the bedroom.

I led her by the hand to my bed, and after pulling the covers back I lowered Susan to the cool sheet below. By the time I had slid in beside her, Susan had removed her panties and discarded them to the far side of the room. Her arms engulfed me as she guided me on top of her, her wide spread thighs swiftly trapping me. She reached for my cock, steering it to her opening and pushing upwards onto it. As her deliciously warm tight pussy fully gripped my shaft, her legs slipped upwards and encircled my waist.