Sentence The Fivehundredandsixtynineth 

Bill Martin was tall and slender – quite a contrast to Hamish MacDonald, indeed to both of them – better known by being a bar-tender, he worked in The Clansman, the pub favoured by Hamish and had been Jessie's boyfriend before she was taken on as a Hoffman Presser at MacDonald's Gents' Outfitters; if he had any doubts about Jessie when she told him of her seduction by Hamish, in the small back-room of his business premises at the end of her second day, he didn't show them: "keep him sweet, Doll, comport yersel, show willin an enthusiasm fer whitever he wants" he said, "this could be the making of us – okay, he's merrit, but if he really likes you, he micht get a divorce and merry ye, but even iffen he dusnae, he micht set ye up in a wee flat, as his Mistress, we'll be set up fer life then, hen; ah'll bet he's loaded!" but Jessie wasn't really mercenary, just looking for security, so she allowed Hamish to have his way with her, partly because she really needed the job and the extra weekly bonus she received from him was well worth the pleasure it gave him, and also because that was what all the men she knew wanted, so she just took it for granted that they took her for granted too and anyway, she was free to see Bill in the evenings and at weekends, though it did feel just a wee bit strange that he wasn't jealous of Hamish, indeed seemed to relish Jessie's accounts of what her boss did to her, but then, she thought to herself and said to Sadie: "there's nowt so queer as Men!" and Sadie agreed with that: "Men are very queer, you cannae ever work oot whit's gaun on in their heids,"

and then tragedy struck – Mrs MacDonald tumbled out of the window and cracked her head open on the pavement below; it was a shame, everyone agreed, they were a devoted couple, sadly childless, how would poor Mr MacDonald manage without her? well, the day after the accident he went out and bought a pair of brown-and-white saddle-shoes, or more widely known as 'co-respondent shoes' on account of the rather louche image they conjure up, and of course, the other way he managed to cope with his grief was by spending more time with Jessie, and not just in the back shop, though that place seemed to have a special significance to Hamish and he still used it on a daily basis to give Jessie the attentions he enjoyed, but now he could also, discreetly mind, he didn't want to give people the wrong idea, as he explained to her, have her in his home, in Wilton Street, and so she would arrive by entering the back court through a close on the far side of the block and make her way to his own back

door, and then there were no constraints – not on him, at least, although, for he did rather seem to enjoy tying her onto the marital bed where he and his wife had spent so many nights, what he really loved to do was spread-eagle her, with her two wrists tied to the short posts at either side of the foot of the bed, and with her legs spread wide, her ankles tied to the posts at the head, which meant that her own head hung down at the foot of the bed and he was able to give her what he liked to call "Deep Thrusts," and though she never particularly enjoyed that, she had been well brought-up from an early age to acquiesce with whatever her father and his brothers always required of her and to realise that a woman's place was under a man's authority; after that, which was now a necessary preliminary to whatever other positions he chose for her, it was like doing some kind of yoga and she was usually able to let her mind drift: she would imagine herself living in a nice little flat off Byres Road, with enough money to employ a maid who would run her bath for her, bring her morning coffee (not that ersatz gunk she had been forced to drink during the war – Camp Coffee made with chicory – but the real McCoy, as her father said whenever he unbuttoned his trousers: "Meet the Real McCoy, Jessie!" and there was absolutely nothing Coy about the thick knotty article that sprang to life before her eyes and which had entered her life and every part of her body from the day of her First Communion, which was also the day Father O'Hagen made his own First Communion with her)

and while her thoughts went from one male member of her family and circle of acquaintance to another, browsed bijou flats in Byers Road or side streets off it, let her try out fashionable outfits in Sauchiehall Street stores, she was vaguely aware of Hamish, now doing press-ups inside her, now tossing his caber over her, now trying a pole-vault and she smiled to herself at how strange were these creatures, these Men, with their obsessive desires and indefatigable determination to pound her into the mattress while bellowing ukases on how they wanted her to behave - "scream, bitch!" or "cry, whore!" or "blubber, harlot!" or howl, tart!" or "ye love me, Jessie, don't ye? tell me, lassie," this last being the frequent words of her Daddy, but it might just as well have been one or another of the eximious business or political or sporting or religious or intellectual leaders of Glasgow, many of whom combined with the men of her own family to debauch the young girl, and usually all their exhortations were likely to produce just a few sorry millilitres of their precious spunk – it was kinda sad really, that they needed to do this, in these many different ways, when she would have been quite content with a peck on the cheek and a box of chocolates: now chocolate – there was something truly worth living for, that never disappointed or let you down!