GOSSIP CALUMNY - 3/5 - A Bigger Prick

As it happened it turned out to be Petronella Rishworth, a relatively short lived, minor mistress from during his first marriage. In his mental sweep stake she was seven to one, to fire the starting gun on a free for all on his reputation. How she chose to do it - no holds barred going straight for the jugular, reminded him what he'd most enjoyed about his relationship with her. Unconventional, because she was the wealthy heiress of a fortune made in marmalade and pickles. Meaning she didn't need to care a fig what anyone thought of her. A fiery Yorkshire temper that he'd found quite a turn on. And a sprightly curious intelligence that never minded exposing the laughable hypocrisy of it all. In short, he'd felt she was very like him. How wrong he'd been.

Her version went like this:-

'Of course Henry Beddington is one prize shit, he was fucking me whilst still married to his first wife, for christ sake. So I guess I should have expected he'd one day piss on me from a great height with someone else. But I bloody well didn't expect it would be with my younger sister, who was only just over the age of consent at the time. It may be only a small dick, but it is attached to an even bigger tumescent prick, that certainly ensured it got itself liberally applied - absolutely everywhere it could.'

Henry, for a moment felt a certain pride in that statement, but couldn't quite place the name or face of her sister. After all this was over thirty five years ago. He didn't have to wait long. The following day a terse statement from Clarabelle Rishworth-Balls was published. He didn't recognise her middle aged older face from the photograph. She'd married a second league tennis player, with whom she was reputedly in a blissfully contented marriage and had three children. Under the headline - ' A Complete and Utter Wanker' - she was happy to fully put the boot right in.

' My, thankfully brief time with Henry Beddington was one of the most depressing disillusioning experiences of my entire life. He uses women atrociously like they are sexual chattels.  He did once possess a wild and debonair charm, which judging by his recent writing in his column he is no longer in possession of. He is just a crude and wrinkled hack now. The very worst incident was when he'd tried to coerce both Petronella and myself to do a three in a bed with him. We both refused, even when he begged on bended knee, offering vast amounts of money, for us to do it. He's a complete and utter wanker, however tiny that legendary dick maybe in reality.'

'Agh! thought Henry 'the constant little dick references? Theres' the rub, the standard belittling tactics of the wronged woman. Its been the same since Medea slit the thoats of her own children. Come on Bedders you invented a lot of this stuff. This is minor cat nip, the drip drip approach to defamation, tawdry scene setting, Keep rising above it, and this will just float away eventually in a wash of effluents.'

Nonetheless the litany of former mistresses, girlfriend's, so called 'friends' continued unrelentingly. Until it formed itself into a relationship lineage you could draw an elaborate mind map of. He'd been nothing if not thorough in the range, age and class of women he'd once taken to bed. Out there he was sure there were children that even their Mother's were loath to say were his. So much did they not want Henry Beddington forever in their lives. But when the press came a calling with their bottomless promises of money, its amazing how quickly mindsets were changed. At least some good could now come of that tawdry brief fling and progeny.

Henry felt he was beginning to respond with an uncharacteristic air of defensiveness
'So I liked sex, so what? Nothing wrong with spreading your seed widely. As far as I'm concerned, the entire validity and purpose of the British Empire was to fuck, or fuck over, anything that moved.'

For all its comprehensiveness, there was no killer blow he could see coming. None of his three former wives had yet broken cover, which  did concern him. What had been published so far struck him as simply titillating background reading, against which something else he suspected, would be shown in starker and more alarming contrast. He'd written this playbook, he recognised the rolling format. Though it was an entirely different and more disconcerting thing when it was being used against you. Impossible to second guess exactly what may be coming next, and it was his life they were mining for tittle tattle.