I remember my Uncle John saying to me once, “Take it where you can find it” it was just after it became known to the family that he had impregnated his brother in laws young sister, Lucy.
I had asked him why? And I even quoted to him the old adage about not doing it on your own doorstep,
His reply was “Take it where you can find it because sooner or later supplies will dry up”
Now a comment like that presupposes that Uncle John wasn’t a fussy man but nothing could be further from the truth.
It’s true that he frowned upon the dismissal of a coupling on the grounds of the aesthetic.
Uncle John said on of his favourite ever sexual partners.
“She had a well used “Jack and Danny” that looked like a badly packed kebab”
He had a way with words did Uncle John and he was a colourful character.
But he also waxed lyrical on his preference for women’s bits to be in tact, he said, he liked everything where it should be, he said of his first wife after she had a hysterectomy that there was something quite disconcerting about the dead eye of her pussy staring at you like a Cod eye on Morison’s fish counter.
And if memory serves me he described Hysterectomy’s as gutting fish or disgorging cod.
I cannot comment having not to the best of my knowledge been in close proximity to a disgorged cod.
For myself I don’t have likes or dislikes in the pursuit of feminine company.
I do have preferences though, but that doesn’t mean I would dismiss out of hand a liaison with a sort not on the preferred list.
For example as a rule I don’t like shagging mothers because a vagina that has given birth and has ejected a large headed alien would by definition lack a certain taughtness.
But when presented with an opportunity to, I will, and after one recent carnal event in particular I would say to reject a jaunt for reasons amounting to a lack of tightness are extremely short sighted indeed.
It’s quite comical really when you hear a bunch of blokes standing around discussing who they’d shag and who they wouldn’t.
Listing the pro’s and cons for individual women when in reality it isn’t a question of which woman they would shag its more a case of which woman will let them have a shag.
But all of this is just grist to the mill for a libidinous writer like my self.
And you can reason all you want about who you would and who you wouldn’t but when the blood supply leaves your brain and heads for your dick you’ll shag anything.
There are things that really turn me I wont dispute that.
posh tottie with plummy voices, matching underwear, stockings obviously, silk underwear, uniforms, business suits, knee socks, small feet, come to think of it just about everything.
But once the beast has awoken, I generally have to let it feed, no matter what the prey.
A good case in point is Frankie, the Ginger gardener, on the face of it not an obvious candidate for my lust.
Frankie being a bit of big chunky unit with great-unfettered breasts and a shock of untamed red hair and with armpits to match.
Maybe that fact that she kept repelling my advances added to her allure.
But every Friday I would try to cop a feel of her ample unfettered tits and every Friday I am thwarted.
So as Sean Connery famously once said never say never.
This particular Friday I spied Frankie in the garden and with great stealth I stalked my Ginger prey, who was bent salaciously over a planter, however unintentionally.
I stood for a moment admiring her amply round derriere and as she stood up from her toil I slipped my hands inside her dungarees and aimed straight for her unfettered globes.
But alas she thwarted me yet again.
“Don’t you ever give up”? She said and slapped me hard on the arm.
“Oh go on just one squeeze” I pleaded
“No, my boyfriend wouldn’t like it.
“He wasn’t going to get it” I told her
“No” she reiterated
“Now let me get on”
“Hang on; I need to ask you a favour”
“Does it involve fondling my breasts”?
“Is that an option then?” I said hopefully
“No” she said firmly
“Then no it doesn’t”
“Ok ask away” she said
“Do you ever take on casual labour”? I asked
“Yes, but its hard finding someone reliable who turns up when they say they will”
“Why do you have someone in mind”?
“Yes”
“It’s not another lecherous git is it?” Frankie asked suspiciously
“No it’s a local girl, Maisie Stewart”
“Ok I’ll give her a trial”
Next I decided to call in at the corner shop and see the lovely Shulah and Aunt Anjuli.
Luckily lazy Omid was out, Aunt Anjuli was ill in bed and only Omid’s lovely young wife Shulah was in the shop.
When she saw me walk in she quickly fussed with her thick black hair and made her look even lovelier.
She was a skinny young girl but the nearer the bone the sweeter the meat was an adage I was very interested in exploring.
Her huge black eyes and toothy smile lit up her face and I felt a stirring.
This grew deeper when I mused on the possibility of examining the figure concealed within her loose robe and put my theory to the test and prove beyond any doubt that she had pert little breasts hidden under there.
I always flirt outrageously with her and Shulah would always flirt back.
And when it came time to pay there was always a lingering exchange where our hands would almost touch but not quite occasionally I would caress her hand with my thumb or brush my fingertips against hers and she would blush, and if she was in the shop I would brush passed her very close and she would get very flustered.
On that day however there were no prying eyes and I blatantly held her hand and caressed her cheek with the other I would have kissed her too if another customer hadn’t entered the shop.
It was Agnes Snipe, a very stern looking young woman with Short brown hair who managed the commercial side of the Golf club.
She never smiled and peers superciliously over her specs at everyone, not a joyful person.
We exchanged pleasantries if you can call them that and I broached the subject of work for Maisie and she gave me the brush off and left.
However before I could resume my activities with Shulah Victoria Braithwaite walked through the door.
She looked very flustered indeed when she saw me I suspect it was our recent liaison in the woods that was responsible for that.
Anyway when she eventually regained her composure I broached the subject with her about full time or part time work for Maisie she said that she would ask around amongst the ladies at the Women’s Institute but in the mean time she did have some odd jobs about the house that needed doing.
Shulah also promised to give Maisie a few hours in the shop while Anjuli was ill.
There were five people in the shop now, so our moment had gone so I gave Shulah’s hand a final stroke and left.
Not a bad mornings work all in all, I just hoped Maisie wouldn’t let me down.
It was just at that minute that I spotted Maisie Stewarts gawky gangling gate crossing the railway bridge so I set off in pursuit.
I lost sight of her for a few minutes and when I was across the bridge I didn’t know if she’d gone left or right.
I took a gamble and went left just as a girl on horseback rode by, it was India Carrington the little rich bitch.
She was the only child of a couple with more money than sense,
Apparently for her 21st birthday a couple of months earlier her parents flew her to America in a private plane to go on a riding holiday.
She was a pretty enough lass, only a tiny little thing sat astride a great Honey coloured colt.
The additional height gave her a great opportunity to look down her nose at the hoi polloi.
She never ever speaks to anyone and never responds to hellos or good mornings.
India Carrington was just a stuck up little bitch with no friends.
Now some men might take that as a challenge but not me
I generally have to fancy them first and foremost and if they’re stuck up, distant, snobby or uncommunicative I don’t fancy them generally.
Even if they do have an A* little bod like India did.
However snooty bitch or not I still found myself musing on whether she was wearing any underwear.
As I watched her trot out of sight I though that bloody horse was the only thing she seemed to care about.
I finally tracked Maisie down about ten minutes later sitting on the banks of a little stream dangling her naked feet in the water.
“Hello you” I said startling her
“You made me jump” she said and giggled.
“What are you up to”? I asked
“Nothing as usual” she replied glumly.
“Just as well I’ve found some work for you”
“Really”? She said excitedly
“You’re not just winding me up” she continued obviously used to being let down.
“No I’m serious”
She turned away from me and I could tell the way her shoulders were moving that she was crying.
“Well come on then” I said “Get your shoes on”
“They’re waiting for you”
“What now”? She said wiping her face on her sleeve and nearly falling in the stream.
Then she threw her long arms around me in a big gawky hug.
“Thanks Simon”
Then she sat down again and I handed her a hankie which she gave a double take at not knowing whether to dry her eyes or her feet so she did both in the end, eyes first.
As I walked her back into the village I filled her in with what odd bits of work I had found for her so far.
“But the rest is up to you” I said
“I won’t let you down Simon, I promise”
We were outside the shop now and I said
“It’s only temporary while Anjuli is ill but if you work hard, I’m sure they’ll use you again.”
She stood up straight and gave me a wonky smile.
“What if she doesn’t like me”? She said nervously
I wiped the last remnants of her tears away and took her in the shop.
As I stepped out of the shop I looked up at the church clock and realised I was going to be late; I had arranged to meet Georgia and her parents in Tollington for lunch, it was the first introduction and it meant a lot to Georgia so I rushed home and called a cab.
I made it to the restaurant with minutes to spare much to Georgie’s relief
Although I wasn’t looking forward to it, I was pleasantly surprised, her parents were good company the food was wonderful and it really was a very pleasant way to spend a couple of hours.
Her father Geoffrey had a meeting to go to and left about half an hour before the rest of us Georgia and her mum, Laura, wanted to go into Kiddingstone shopping which I gallantly let them do on their own.
They offered to drop me off but I was so stuffed after the meal I fancied a constitutional, so I declined the offer and set off to walk back to Bushy Down, Georgia said it was less than 3 miles as the crow flies and she scribbled down, on the back of a serviette, a route that would take me through Kings Oak Woods.
Well it was about an hour into my trek when I realized I was hopelessly lost and blundering about in the woods and I was wishing I’d accepted the lift.
The woods were getting thicker and thicker and darker and darker and I was starting to get despondent when I saw a glimmer of light though the trees.
I headed towards the source of the light which appeared to be a small clearing.
As I got closer I could see there was someone in the clearing, it was snooty India and her horse.
The colt was tied to a tree and she appeared to be grooming the beast.
I moved a little closer and was about to ask her to direct me back to the path to Bushy Down when I realised she wasn’t grooming the horse at all.
I had come upon the most interesting scene, where India stood beside the tethered beast, still wearing her riding hat, white shirt opened to the waist rubbing her naked breasts against the horse’s neck and shoulder, one hand gripping the horse’s neck and the other one down the front of her open jodhpurs pleasuring herself.
Now this was a most interesting development, and was a case in Point that supported Uncle Johns “Take it where you can find it” and my own adage of “Never say never”.
For India Carrington had gone in a matter of hours from an unattainable and by her manner, unattractive proposition to a top notch dead cert. or to put it another way she’d gone from a snooty stuck up little bitch to a little half naked fit bird masturbating in the woods.
I now walked slowly and stealthily, on her blind side, across the clearing to close the distance between us.
As I got closer I could hear the soft moans accompanying her fingering.
I was about five or six paces from her when she suddenly became aware of my presence and gasping India withdrew her hand from her pussy and hugged the horse even closer in an effort to cover up her nakedness, her pleasuring hand was now on the horses flank and I could distinctly see moisture glistening on two of her fingers.
“Don’t stop on my account” I said continuing to close the distance.
As I got closer she said nothing and just stood stock still against the horse.
When I was stood directly behind her I lifted the white shirt tail and she took a deep breath, and as I put my hands against the naked skin of her waist she let the breath out again.
I ran my hands slowly up her back I could feel her ribs beneath my fingers and her heart thumping behind them.
As my eager hands traversed her back I tried to slip one hand between her and the horse and grab one of her breasts, but India prevented me and she pushed my hand, not away, but down towards her fanny.
So I obligingly moved my hand across her flat belly and down into her jodhpurs and I ran my fingers through her coarse fluff and rubbed her mound of Venus gently eliciting a low moan.
I continued to rub her gently for several moments and began to move towards her slit, but instead of fingering her gash I put my left hand on her hip and yanked her jodhpurs down to her boot tops with my right.
Then I slapped her small white cheek hard like you would the haunch of a pony and left a big red hand print.
I knew I didn’t need to frig her fanny as I could see she was ready for me by the damp patch in her jodhpurs so I dropped my shorts and admired my erection for a moment.
I then slid my left hand from her hip across her soft belly and gripped her right hip firmly.
She was breathing in quick short pants when I lifted her small frame off the ground.
Bringing her cunny up to cock height and still gripping her tightly with my left arm I used my right hand to hold my shaft and I introduced my swollen cock to her waiting pussy.
She gasped as I penetrated her, I don’t know if she was a virgin or not it’s difficult to tell with these horsy types, many a cherry had been popped while in the saddle.
She was nice and tight thought, but if she was a virgin she wasn’t anymore.
I continued to support her weight with my left arm wrapped around her middle while my right hand grasped the pommel on the saddle to give me some purchase while I fucked her.
She was hugging the horse with her left arm around the horses neck her right hand grasped a handful of main.
She was moaning uncontrollably as I pounded into her,
I was banging her so hard the cheeks of her little arse were slapping against my belly like wave lapping against the side of a boat.
She really was nicely tight and I was relishing my task as I went up her again and again and with every deep penetration she let out little high pitched grunts.
I could feel my self on the threshold now and India had started to squeal with each stroke.
She was wrapped around the horses neck like a rodeo rider as I banged into her again and again and her squeals turned to squeaks and ended with a scream of satisfaction when she went rigid and I finished inside the honey cunnied little Philly.
I left it up her until my cock twitched its last.
We were both breathing hard when I pulled it out of her and she let out a long sigh.
Then I lowered her back to terra firma.
“There’s a good girl” I said and slapped her rump
Then I wiped my wet cock on her shirt tails before redressing myself.
As I left the clearing she never spoke me, she just stood there against the horse still rubbing her naked tits against his shoulder, panting out long sighs jodhpurs still round her knees.
I’m sure she thought that she’d just been fucked by her horse.
A nice bit of rumpy pumpy in the woods was a very pleasant diversion Miss Carrington was a nice tight little fuck, a little weird but I would definitely ride her again.
However I still had the problem of getting back home.
I didn’t think to ask India for directions before I left and she probably wouldn’t have answered me.
But I was thinking to myself that perhaps I should have asked anyway when I spotted a sign post which read Bushy Down 1 1/4 miles.
“That’ll do for me” I said out loud and headed down the path.
A few hundred yards along it I became aware of movement behind me and when I stopped and turned I saw that it was India on her colt.
She was trotting along I could see her tits jiggling inside her shirt, and below her riding hat the find strands of blond hair were dancing around her shoulders and she had a large wet patch on the crotch of her jodhpurs she was going to have a very wet saddle when she got back to the stable.
I stepped to one side to let her pass and she slowed to a walk as she passed me and she gave me a coy little smile and then the honey cunnied Philly riding the honey coloured colt galloped off.
Oh yes I thought to myself I would definitely be back in that particular saddle very soon indeed I thought as I watched her ride away with the tails of her soiled shirt tucked inside her jodhpurs.
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