“Well, just don’t think this is going to become a regular thing” that’s what Frankie Carpenter said to me after the revenge shag we had in my garage.
It was pay back for her boyfriend’s infidelity, for his acts of adultery while she had remained faithful.
But she turned out to be all talk and no action.
Well that isn’t altogether true as there was plenty of action as I was ploughing her furrow every day for over a week until she made up with her errant boyfriend.
I was relieved to be honest; she was shagging me to death, because although she was a big unit and lacked in agility this was more than compensated by her immense stamina.
In the days that followed our brief fling I was beginning to feel my age and I had to take a few days off to recharge the batteries.
When I reentered the world refreshed and rejuvenated on Saturday morning the enjoyment of the glorious India summer was some what tempered by the news that Gerald Overend had passed away the night before.
I liked Gerald he was a genuine warm-hearted man, a real gentleman and something of a character.
Everybody liked him, it was impossible not to.
Gerald Overend was a teller of tales, not tall tales he wasn’t an exaggerator or a guilder of lilies nor was he a gossip or a scandalmonger.
He was a storyteller, a Raconteur, and he could hold those in earshot of his syrupy tones captivated and enraptured to the last word.
I had got to know him quite well in the short time since we met, my Uncle first introduced us some years earlier and we were reacquainted at Uncle John’s funeral.
He was very good company, he could listen as well as he talked
I always admired the way he could spin a story from nothing and embroider a rich and colourful world with it.
As I found to my cost when stricken with writers block, striking that first spark of inspiration was devilishly hard.
He on the other hand admired the fact I could put my imaginings onto paper so a wider world could share the magic.
He himself had tried over the years but just couldn’t achieve the same fluent coherence as his spoken words.
Gerald Overend was one of the longest membership holders at the golf club though he was not an ardent player even before his health began to fail but he was always present somewhere especially at the functions.
He loved talking to people and hearing their stories, their anecdotes, he was a wonderful man whom I would miss greatly.
Having heard the sad news of his passing I knew there was only one place to be, the golf club.
He would be the main topic of discussing and everyone would have there own memory of Gerald to share, so I altered course and headed for the club.
Clearly I was not the only one, as when I got there, the main bar was heaving, I’d never seen it quite so busy at lunchtime on a Saturday even when there was a function on.
I squeezed my way through the door and tried to plot a course to the bar, I had just about settled on a path when I heard someone shout.
I turned towards the direction of the call and spotted a table full of my favourite ladies in the corner.
Victoria Braithwaite, the caller, was stood waving.
“We saved you a seat,” she said
“Excellent” I said “but how did you know I was coming”?
“We know how you think,” said Pandora Parkinson Brown with a cheeky grin.
I took the seat between her and Judith Hunt.
Also seated at the table were, Dr Claire Andrews and the Reverend Katie Oliver.
This unusually large lunchtime crowd was the spontaneous reaction of a village that had lost a dear friend and for the next two hours we sat there exchanging anecdotes about the man we all loved.
The warm weather was still in evidence on the day of the funeral.
Such was the popularity of the man that everyone wanted to pay their respects so attendance had to be strictly limited.
The funeral service itself, held at the Kiddlingstone crematorium was restricted to family and close friends only.
This was then followed by a memorial service at St Lucy’s church in Bushy Down, the village he loved so much and where he spent most of his life.
St Lucy’s was packed to the gunwales and it seemed like the whole village had turned out to say goodbye, even Georgia came back for the funeral, she and Gerald got on in the same way that he and I did, she admired Gerald greatly…
Eleanor asked me via the Vicar if I would do the readings but when she realized Georgia was there with me she sought me out and asked.
“Would you mind if Georgia did one of the readings?”
“Of course not” I replied
“Gerald particularly wanted you both to read,” she said turning towards Georgia
“I would be honored,” she said
Then she smiled weakly and returned to her family
Gerald had known the end was nigh and had planned his funeral to the last detail and the last thing anyone was going to do was not to play along, I didn’t realize of course just how far he had planned.
The Vicar began with a short introduction and prayers before Gerald’s closest friend, Owen Edwards, began the readings with a piece by Gerald Blake
“To see the world in a grain of sand,
And to see heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hands,
And eternity in an hour”
This was followed by the congregation singing the 23rd Psalm: "The Lord's my shepherd".
Georgia then read the classic Mary Elizabeth Frye poem
Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep
“Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumnal rain.
When you awake in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there. I did not die.”
The choir then gave their rendition of Amazing Grace before my reading of
“To the living, I am gone.
To the sorrowful, I will never return.
To the angry, I was cheated,
But to the happy, I am at peace,
And to the faithful, I have never left.
I cannot be seen, but I can be remembered.
So as you stand upon a shore, gazing at a beautiful sea - remember me.
As you look in awe at a mighty forest and its grand majesty - remember me.
As you look upon a flower and admire its simplicity - remember me.
Remember me in your heart, your thoughts, and your memories of the times we
loved, the times we cried, the times we fought, the times we laughed.
For if you always think of me, I will have never gone”
We then finished with a rousing performance of Gerald’s favourite hymn “Nearer my God to Thee” and then the Vicar sent us on our way with another prayer.
Once Katy had dismissed us, the mourners slowly decanted into the churchyard.
Some dispersed in the direction of the car park and drove to the wake, a small proportion made there way home or back to work. While the remainder were marshaled down church lane.
Georgia couldn’t stay for the wake as she had an afternoon lecture so her dad was taking her back to Roehampton.
We had not spoken of my suitability as her boyfriend since that night before she returned to Uni.
So I hadn’t had to lie about my misdeeds, I had tried though that should have been worth something but I knew it carried no weight.
I think she probably knew I had been weak but I’m sure she could never imagine just how weak.
There was still time however and I had cut down.
“Now you behave yourself” she said to me and kissed me
“It’s a funeral,” I pointed out
“Hmm” she responded
“I will be with Judith, Pandora and Victoria” I said innocently “How much trouble can I get into with them”?
“Fair enough, you should be safe with the old birds” Georgia said reassured
Just then the three old birds in question came into view
“Your escorts have arrived” she said and laughed then she kissed me again and was gone.
The old birds and I followed the pack down church lane which ended as a public road after about one hundred yards it then became a cinder path which crossed the 6th fairway and snaked its way across the course to the clubhouse.
Normally it would be a little hazardous to cross the sixth fairway at that point but all play was suspended after one o’clock, much to the chagrin of the commercial manager Agnes Snipe.
The wake was held in the ballroom, it was what I considered to be a Proper funeral where everyone wore black, the men in black suits and ties and the women in the whole ensemble.
Which was nice, it was tradition, I liked tradition, I also liked women in black.
All the women in black, phwor that’s why funerals always gave me a bit of a semi, perverse I know but there you are.
After a few glasses of wine I needed to take a leak so I excused my self to my companions and went to pee.
On my way to the loo I caught sight of Miss Snipe who peered at me over her specs and seeing I was not enamored with her she quickly bolted for the safety of her office.
I did think about going after her but my need to pee had become more acute so I decided to leave Snipe for another day.
It was on my return that I overheard two of the village bitches discussing the dead man.
“Did you here that one of his last requests was that his wife wore his favourite lingerie on the day of the funeral” said bitch one
“You mean stockings and suspenders and silk things,” asked bitch two.
“Yes, disgusting if you ask me” she replied
There was a clattering along the corridor and the women stopped talking and once they became aware of my presence they spoke in hushed whispers.
It was when I reentered the ball room that I spotted the widow talking to the vicar, Eleanor was a good looking woman in her mid fifties, quite tall, very elegant and she had big tits.
The news that she was wearing the gear beneath the black suit made her even more attractive and I detected a slight hint of trouser tickle.
But worse than that after hearing the news about the sexy underwear, I pictured every woman in the ballroom in stockings and suspenders, and mused on the nature of each accompanying undergarment.
Black bra and panties black tights or if you’re lucky stockings, a Lacy teddy, French silk cami knickers, Basques, Corsets, camisoles, chemises, silk drawers, thongs, satin bodices.
My mind was in a spin and as I caught sight of her across the room I thought even the vicar might be harbouring hidden delights and then she looked straight at me and blushed as if she knew what I was thinking.
Of course there were a number of women in the room whose under things were not a mystery to me and the reminiscence of these sensual interludes resulting in a increased swelling in my pants.
Then all at once every woman in the ballroom, young and old, short and tall, skinny and plump, tottie and munter was stripped down to their underwear, fishnets, body stockings, everywhere my gaze fell my eyes feasted on black clad flesh.
For one dreadful moment I thought my cock was going to burst out of my trousers and I’d have to tug myself off.
But at that precise moment to save me from a shameful exhibition I caught sight of Miss Snipe again, with whom I had a score to settle, crossing the room and I moved to intercept her. But she must have spotted me and beat a retreat to the sanctuary of her office once more.
I regained my composure and rejoined the “old birds” and had another drink the rest of the event passed off without further incident.
About an hour later a noticeable amount of people had already drifted away so I decided to make a move as well, Judith had to get home and feed her boys and Victoria wanted to be home when Maisie got in from work so they got up too.
Pandora was going to wait for Graham, who was on his way apparently and had been for the last hour,
It was as Judith, Victoria and I were leaving that the widow Eleanor took hold of my elbow
“Simon”? She said
I turned around
“Yes”? I replied
“Simon, I have a box at the house” Eleanor said “some things Gerald particularly wanted you to have”
“Oh” I said with surprise
“Could you pick them up this evening?” she asked almost disinterested, then she qualified the request
“I’m going to my sisters in the morning and will be away for a while”
“Of course” I replied and she nodded before patting my arm and then walked away
“How strange” I said to the girls
“Grief affects everyone differently,” Victoria said sagely
“That poor, poor woman” said Judith
After I had escorted the ladies to their respective doors I returned home and made myself some coffee and freshened up.
I really wanted to just collapse on the sofa but it was not to be, Eleanor obviously wanted to fulfill Gerald’s request before she went away, I chastised myself for being selfish, after all it was a small thing that she had asked me to do.
So around 8 o’clock I slipped my jacket on and went out of the front door.
I turned right at the end of footpath and took the unfamiliar route away from the village.
The Overend's lived in one of the large detached houses on the Potteringham road, very exclusive and very expensive.
It was about ten minutes later when I stood under the portico and rang the bell.
It was a minute or two before the light went on and I saw a dark silhouette through the glass.
When the door opened the elegant figure of Eleanor stood before me.
“Hello Simon” She said almost brightly with a half smile but her puffy eyes betrayed her.
“Is it good time” I asked
“Of course” she reassured me
“The box is in the study”
She took me through to Gerald’s study and I was instantly envious, its rich warm furnishings all dark wood and leather had relegated my own study several divisions below rendering it a pale imitation.
“Here it is Simon” she said indication a small cardboard box on the desk.
I opened the flaps and looked inside, it was full of Dictaphone tapes, audiocassettes, CD’s and flash drives.
“Gerald wanted you to have his collection of stories. Which he had recorded over the years” she said “in the hope that you could convert them into print”
“How wonderful” I said flabbergasted “what a fabulous treasure”
Eleanor looked on proudly and even managed a genuine smile,
“Will you put them in a book?” she asked
“Yes” I said “And if I do my part right it should raise a shilling or two”
“Oh I don’t care about the money, give his share to charity,” Eleanor said, “as long as Gerald gets a mention”
“His name will be on the front cover” I said, “where it belongs”
And then she began to cry.
I took her in my arms, I’ve never been any good at offering words of comfort, which is pretty shit for a wordsmith I know so I just let her sob uncontrollably into my shoulder.
I felt so hopelessly inadequate which was not a feeling I was accustomed to whilst holding an attractive woman in my arms.
I’m not sure how long I stood there holding her, probably nowhere near as long as it felt.
I was just at the point were I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable when I became aware of her hot breath on my neck, and her arms tighten around me.
Then she began to nuzzle my neck and I could feel her breath panting on my skin.
I tried not to respond and in my head I was screaming for her to stop, but like in those dreams where you feel helpless, the words never came out.
Which is when the beast, who had been content to rest easy in my pants since the underwear frenzy that afternoon, stirred and opened his solitary eye.
It was bulging in my trousers and Eleanor was rubbing her pelvis against it
While still nuzzling my neck her hands had slipped inside my jacket and began to caress up and down my back and her nuzzles turned to kisses before tonguing and licking my ear like a Labrador.
I reciprocated the caresses and in an instant her mouth was on mine.
Her lips were soft, her mouth was hot and her tongue was electric.
Eleanor’s hands began to claw at my shirt dragging it free of my waistband then with great urgency her hands were on my flesh and her nails were clawing my back.
She was half perched on the desk in front of me as she discarded my jacket and her fingers fumbled at my shirt buttons.
The task complete she virtually ripped the shirt from my back.
Pulling herself to her feet those eager trembling hands were on my flesh again and she sighed and exhaled through her nose.
I had one hand on the zip of her dress and tugged it down without ceremony while my other hand pulled the dress off her shoulder, reluctantly she released her grip on my torso long enough to allow her to wriggle her arms free of the sleeves and then the dress fell to the floor, her hands then quickly returned to their previous task.
Her kissing became more intense as I turned my attention to her tits caressing them through the black lace.
I pushed Eleanor backwards against the desk and she stepped out of the dress lying on the floor where it fell.
I stopped playing with her tits and her stiffening nipples and moved my hand to the top of her stocking with my palm pressed against the soft flesh of her inner thigh pausing briefly before moving inside the silk of her panties.
My fingers dwelled amidst her course bush then Eleanor snorted though her nose as I slipped my fingers between her lips and toyed with her juicy cunny.
She couldn’t maintain the kiss any longer and her breaths became deep and erratic.
I pushed her back on the desk and continued fingering her wet gash until her cream oozed between my fingers.
She was in a frenzy, her head was rolling back and forth, and she was biting her lip and pulling her hair.
Eleanor wriggled beneath my hand and moaned like a whore her hands gripped the edges of the desk until her knuckles whitened.
She was panting out course breaths and then in a delicious rasping moan she came.
I reached up under her arse with both hands and smartly yanked the silk drawers off her buttocks and down her thighs, then she obliged me by drawing up her knees for me to pull her pants off over her shoes.
I hurriedly undid my trousers and bared my throbbing cock she spread her legs wide to receive me, her untidy wiry bush on full display so I thrust my cock into her grateful pussy.
My hands slid down her outer thighs until I had hold of her hips and her buttock slapped the top of the desk as I pumped on her and she let out a low animal growl, which excited me very much.
I was really warming to my task when she suddenly drew up her legs and planting the leather soul on my chest kicked me backwards until I fell on the floor.
I thought all she had to say was stop, if she had a change of heart or came to her senses I could have understood that, but no she had to kick me.
I looked up and saw her rising up off the table and to my surprise she joined me on the rug before climbing aboard and impaling her gash on my shaft.
My hands grabbed her arse as she undid her bra and her big white tits, like deploying airbags, hit me in the face,
I suckled one of her huge nipples as she rose and fell on me
And with each successive length she took from me she exhaled a low animal grunt
My hands left her buttocks and moved to her great white breasts, which I grasped and grappled with.
The strokes were getting shorter
The moans were getting louder
Rising and falling
Her moans more urgent, more guttural. more animal
Rising and falling
Louder and louder
Writhing and wriggling
Rising and falling
Louder and louder
And then crescendo.
Eleanor’s whole body seemed to be in spasm before me as I emptied into her pulsing and twitching and she cried out in orgasm.
She fell forward and climbed off me to lay beside me on the rug with her back to me.
I just lay there panting
“You should go now,” she said coldly
They were the first words she had spoken, I said nothing as I got up and dressed
I walked over to the desk and noticed she had left a snail trail on the polished surface.
I picked up the box of recordings, I turned and looked at Eleanor’s recumbent figure on the floor and thought I could detect the trembling shoulders of a crying woman.
“Goodbye Eleanor” I said but she didn’t respond, so I went out the door.
I wasn’t sure as I walked home clutching the small cardboard box or even now for that matter whether it was always in Gerald’s plans that I would give Eleanor my own particular brand of comfort.
And anyway it didn’t really matter if Gerald sanctioned what I was doing; it didn’t make me feel any better about myself
I had reached my lowest ebb; I had sunk as low as I could go,
putting aside the fact that I had been unfaithful to Georgia with yet another woman.
When we parted after the memorial service and she said
“Now you behave yourself,” I can absolutely guarantee that wasn’t code for “now go and fuck the widow”.
The truth of the situation was that I was the lowest form of life.
And the paradox was not lost on me, how I spent most of the day in respectful remembrance of the man then spent the evening poking his widow.
I was so going to hell.