A Dirty Pair

OF SWEET GARDENIAS

Of sweet gardenias
The lassie smelt
As I knelt beside
The svelte little Celt
Where on her knee
My hand briefly dwelt
Before it slid upward
Until it felt her pelt

LET ME DINE ON IMMORAL-FLESH

Let me dine on immoral-flesh
So readily on display
Let me sup on the promiscuous
Who will let me have my way
Let me exorcise my desires
On the willing assets of the age
Let me use them and abuse them
While they brazenly assuage
Let me chose from the buffet
One who will eagerly delight
It takes very little effort
If you do the thing right
Just start at Wetherspoons
On almost any given night

A Spiritual Trio

WE’LL REACH OUR GOD

We’ll reach our God,
In heavens palaces
Leaving our bodies,
Heavy like stone,
And take flight
On angels wing
And bathe in His glory
For all eternity

A CROSS FOR YOU

A cross for you,
A symbol of your sacrifice
A cross for me,
A sign of my devotion
Across the veil
To the place beyond
To bathe together
In everlasting love

VIOLENCE TURNS THE WORLD

Violence turns the world
Into a smouldering ruin
God against God
Sect against sect
Brother against Brother
Hatred against reason
And in the middle
Innocence dwells
Armed only with hope
And unshakeable faith

Sporting Briefs

A POLE DANCER AND A GYMNAST

A pole dancer and a gymnast
Hard working and skilled too
The only difference between them
Seems to be the quantity of tattoo

STOLEN MOMENTS

Drug cheats should receive,
No second chance, no reprieve
A total ban for their crime
And the ban should be lifetime

The winner of the event
The one for whom the gold was meant
Doesn’t stand atop the podium
And hear their anthem in the stadium

The true gold medal recipient
Is for ever robbed of that moment
Though their honour was earned
That moment can never be returned

PROUD FATHER OF THE PARALYMPICS
Professor Sir Ludwig "Poppa" Guttmann

How proud would Ludwig be?
If he could only see
The oak tree that has grown
From his tiny acorn sown

As a Jew he was no stranger
To prejudice and its danger
He had seen the Nazi storm
And they’re concept of the norm
He saw how disabilities lead
To the slaughter shed
So he fled to London
And his work was begun

How proud would Poppa be?
If he could only see
The fruits of his endeavours
To change the view forever
Of people written off
“Only cripples?” he would scoff

He was a tour de force
And single minded of course
Who didn’t see freak show exhibits
But challenges to the human spirit

How proud he would have been
If he could have only seen
When Paralympians, each and every one
Out shone the September sun

CLEAN AND JERK

I’ve just found out about the clean and jerk
I don’t mind saying I feel a bit of a burke
In fact I doubt I could feel any dafter
Because I generally clean mine after

WELL NOW THE PARALYMPICS ARE OVER

Well now the Paralympics are over
The call is coming loud and clear
To accommodate those unfortunates
Whose disadvantages were just too severe
For them to be able to compete
So following a simply inspired idea
Next summer on the sporting Calendar
A brand new event will appear
To accommodate the unfortunates
When the “Essex Games” begin next year

THE ESSEX GAMES

The Essex Games
Begin next year
For the Essex folk
Who will appear

In man made fibres
And gaudy splendour
To watch the best of them
In their endeavours

When Dave and Chelsea
Shazza and Baz
Will perform for us to watch
In such events as

Copping a strop
Vagazaling
The stiletto 100m
And the bling

Throwing a tantrum
The Alco pop crawl
The face dive
And the ungraceful fall

As yet the events list
Is relatively small
Unless you can suggest
Anything at all?

WE WERE AT THE WEIGHTLIFTING

We were at the weightlifting
Watching the woman at work
My friend shouted “great snatch”
I said, “Isn’t this the clean and jerk?”

2012 - SUMMER OF SPORT

For the most splendid
Summer of sport
We should thank Lord Coe
And all the ambassadors
All the games makers
And the volunteers
We should thank the armed forces
For stepping into the breech
Technicians and officials
All the competitors
For performing to their best
And the spectators
Just for being there
And last but by no means least
For their foresight
All those years ago
In clearing the Olympic site
We say a big thank you
To the German Luftwaffe

AT THE ESSEX GAMES # 1

At the Essex Games
Beginning next year
For the Essex folk
Have hit a snack I fear

On health safety grounds
There will be no swimming
Because it have transpired
That the pool was brimming
With dirty brown water
When every girl and man
Had dived in to the pool
Wearing too much fake tan

A NATURE SELECTION

IS IT THE ANGER OF PETULANT GODS?

Is it the anger of petulant Gods?
In their Olympian Penthouse
Exploding their volcanic wrath
Down a molten hillside
Or an angry planet
From deep within
Trying to cleanse the earth
Of it’s unworthy guardians

AUTUMN LEAVES ARE GATHERING

Autumn leaves are gathering
Golden in the hedgerows
As the sun sits lower in the sky
Shadows lengthen across the landscape
Heralding winters approach

ABOVE A MOONLIT MEADOW

Above a moonlit meadow
The stars begin to shine
As I plight my troth in earnest
And hope to make you mine

AMIDST THE REEDS AND RUSHES

Amidst the reeds and rushes
Dragonflies hover by the river still
Where the weeping willows
Drooping branches spill

IN THE WATER MEADOW

In the water meadow
The Mayflies pirouette
On gossamer wings.
A pair performs a duet
As they dance their
Ephemeral vignette

THROUGH GREEN-WOODS AND MEADOWS

Through green-woods and meadows
The happy travellers wend
Along the meandering river
Until they reached journeys end

BUSY BEE

Under a sky of periwinkle blue
The honey bee sips the morning dew
Then she spends the daylight hours
Humming amidst the meadow flowers

An Antidote To Writers Block (Part 29) A Breath Of French Air (Day Two)

On our first night in Paris, having exorcised our considerable lust in the vestibule of our room, we remained in lustful embrace,
Claire in my arms impaled on my shaft and pinned to the wall.
We remained in the vestibule whilst I was still in Claire’s vestibule if you like, for an indeterminate time, until Claire needed to pee.
So I set her down on the floor and kissed her slowly and sensually.
Then we opened the inner door and entered the room properly for the first time.
Claire needed the loo too much to examine the room in detail, so while she went in the bathroom I carried the bags in and tried not to listen to her peeing, I know I’m a perve but I can’t help it, it just does it for me.
When she had finished in the bathroom she walked out wearing her sweater and no bra and with her nipples standing proud and although the garment was long it still left a tantalizing portion of her bush visible.
In one hand she was carrying a pink bra in the other a pair of wet knickers,
“You have decimated my underwear,” she announced exasperated
“Three pairs of tights, two pairs of soiled knickers and a broken bra”
I did think to point out that I wasn’t present when the first pair of tights were ruined and the third pair were down to her but I decided not to as I had no defense in regard to the second pair and anyway I was really enjoying looking at her bush.
Then she threw her wet knickers at my face and said
“Stop looking at my muff while I’m telling you off”
She was laughing as she picked up her dirty pants and rubbed them in my face.
“I hope you don’t think this is a punishment,” I said
“Urgh you’re disgusting” she exclaimed then she hugged me.

We deliberated briefly on what we should do next, eat in the room, get spruced up and go somewhere chic or quickly freshen up and go find a bistro.
We decided on the latter and twenty minutes later wearing jeans and trainers we were crossing the hotel lobby and just as we reached the main door Claire sneezed.
“Oh shit there goes another pair,” she said and I laughed.
“It’s not funny” she said, “I’ve only got one pair left”
I was still laughing when she punched my arm and she was giggling herself as she said quietly.
“You’ve soiled three pairs of knickers in one day and now I need to buy some more”
“You could always go commando,” I suggested
“I can’t do that” Claire exclaimed, quite mortified but still chuckling “I’m not a tart”
That kind of set the tone for the evening and when we found a bistro we entertained ourselves by identifying the patrons who were “sans culotte” or as we liked to call them Parisien
When we retuned to Hotel we finished the night off making love in bed, it was a more tender and restrained union than our earlier one but every bit as pleasurable for all that.

I awoke the next morning to find an empty space in the bed next to me, this was not the norm when sleeping with Claire who was partial to an early morning spoon, and had a considerable number of weapons in her arsenal to encourage me to be so inclined.
This morning however she was already up and in the shower.
I lay in bed for a while nursing my early riser feeling a little crestfallen.
When I finally dragged myself out of bed Claire was just coming out of the bathroom pink and luscious and draped in towels.
I was bleary eyed and naked and still had a boner which Claire couldn’t help but notice.
“Morning Gorgeous” she said
“Hi hon.” I replied
“I was talking to your friend” she said and took hold of my cock and stroked it gently as she kissed me.
“Now go and have a shower,” Claire added as she gave my old chap a final stroke.
While I was in the shower my erection abated but I thought Claire would bring it back to life in a second.
When I emerged from the bathroom, I was spotlessly clean, sweet smelling with minty fresh breath and ready for action.
So imagine my surprise when I found Claire wearing a black bra with matching pants just visible through her usual 70 denier black tights.
She had a skinny waist and neat hips and the most beautifully round buttocks, and oh yes the boner was back.
The very appealing sight of Claire in black underwear and tights had left me with a pronounced bulge in my towel but she was clearly not ready for action.
“Are we not canoodling this morning?” I asked in a pitiful voice not unlike that of Oliver Twist asking for more gruel.
“No time Babe” she said
“I have time for a quick breakfast then I need to get to the conference centre”
And after a prolonged glance at the bulge in my towel she continued
“So you can stop pointing that thing at me, I’m interested in a sausage of a very different sort”
And after seeing the crestfallen look on my face she kissed me before saying
“But if you keep it warm I’ll eat it later”
So resigned to the fact I wasn’t going to be dipping my wick before breakfast but with the promise of later delights I quickly dressed for the day and joined Claire for breakfast before seeing her into a cab.
Her symposium and my potential French publisher were in opposite directions so we had to take separate taxis.

As my appointment with the publisher wasn’t until the afternoon and Claire was busy all day I decided to do some sight seeing.
After a brief word with the concierge I secured the services of an English speaking taxi driver who gave me the full tour, The Arc de Triomphe, the Champs-Elysées, The Sorbonne and the Latin Quarter, The Louvre, Montmartre, Sacre Coeur and the Eiffel Tower.
I was very impressed with the city but my enjoyment was tinged with the regret that Georgia wasn’t there to enjoy it with me.
It struck me all of a sudden and quite out of the blue.
Frankly I was taken aback that in the middle of my adulterous Parisian break with the delicious doctor it was my girlfriend with whom I wanted to experience Paris.
This had never happened before.
I had the taxi drop me at the Eiffel tower and I walked the banks the Seine as I mulled over the consequences of what had occurred.
I knew that I loved Georgia obviously, that was a given, but I had never consciously missed her when I was playing away.
I stopped at a café and ordered coffee and a pastry and I decided that I had to bring Georgie to Paris maybe in the spring or on her birthday.
A different hotel obviously and a different bistro, in fact anywhere I’d been with Claire was a no-no which of course meant the Eurostar.
As I finished the last mouthful of cake I got a tingle at the root of my cock just at the thought of the Eurostar, which was quite inappropriate, I chastised myself for my insensitivity.
However I resolved that I would definitely bring Georgia with me to Paris.
When I had finished my coffee I checked my watch and got up to find a taxi.

I arrived at the publishers ten minutes early and found myself somewhat surprised at what I found.
I had expected the publishers of a “gentlemen’s magazine” to be rather seedy and down market but not a bit of it.
It was all bright lights and glass with an ostentatious façade and a flashy in your face attitude and not a dirty raincoat in sight.
My meeting was with the editor Henri Montpelier who spoke perfect English and thanked me for meeting with him.
I only stayed about half an hour not because they didn’t impress me but because I didn’t want to waste their time, I had only agreed to meet them at all because it gave me an excuse to be in Paris so I could spend three days shagging the naughty doctor.
My reasons for not agreeing to publish remained unchanged as far as I was concerned.
I left Henri and he said he would contact Lionel Blum with an offer, I said fine.
I thought at the very least it would allow me to gauge my worth as a writer of dirty books.

On the way back to the hotel in the cab Lionel called me to congratulate me,
“You must have made a great impression my dear,” he said
“They’ve made an offer”
Then he told me the details and I nearly dropped the phone.

At the hotel I couldn’t wait to tell someone and for the second time that day I regretted Georgia not being there.
I went up to the room and let myself in but the room was empty so I went back downstairs and into the bar.
I fancied a pint but they only had French beer, which was weaker than piss so I ordered a large glass of white wine instead.
I texted Claire to say I was in the bar and to join me when she arrived
She replied ok
I took my drink out on the terrace, which was bathed in the surprisingly warm October sunshine, but it was cooler than it looked so I went back inside.
I found myself a seat and took my phone from my pocket and called Georgia.
We spoke for about an hour, I hadn’t realized how much I had missed hearing her voice, and shared my news.
I was on my second glass of wine when Claire arrived clutching an assortment of bags.
“Hi handsome” she said kissing me then she whispered. “I had to go shopping for you know what’s”
“That’s ok,” I said kissing her back, knowing precisely what the “you know what’s” were, “blimey are all those bags full of knickers?”
“Shhh” she exclaimed “no of course not, but one thing led to another after all how often does a girl get the chance to shop in Paris”
“Quite right” I agreed, “do you want a drink?”
“No thanks babe. I want to go and try these on” Claire replied excitedly
“Ok, I’ll come up when I’ve finished mine”
To the casual observer we would have looked like a married couple, if they only knew.

When I got up to the room I found Claire stood in front of the mirror sporting a pair of ivory silk knickers and she was trying to wrestle her breasts into the matching bra.
The first one would go in its cup with only a little persuasion but just as she got the second one in and the first one popped out again or both nipples would suddenly appear above the lace.
And all the time her buttocks were doing the mumbo inside her silk drawers, I was enjoying her performance very much indeed.
“Are you having a bit of trouble Betty?” I asked in my best Frank Spencer.
“I’ve bought the wrong bloody cup size,” she snapped
“Did you only buy one?” I enquired
“No of course not” she replied crossly
“But they’re all the same size” I speculated
“Yes” she mumbled and stamped her feet. “And I wanted to look and feel stunning tonight”
“You always look stunning,” I said honestly
“That’s very sweet” Claire said and turned to kiss me and both dark pink nipples peered over the top of the ivory lace.
“What am I going to do?” she asked as she rested her head on my chest “I don’t want to wear the black one, I’ve had it on all day”
“Go braless” I suggested
“I can’t go without a bra” Claire said horrified “I’m thirty four years old”
“Actually you’re thirty five” I corrected her “but you have fabulous tits”
She frowned at the correction of her age but smiled and blushed when I complicated her breasts.
She turned towards the mirror again and removed her ill-fitting bra and then began squishing and kneading her titties and evaluated their pliability in her reflection.
“I will not go out in Paris with my thirty five year old baps unslung” she stated
“Ok then how about a compromise?” I suggested, “You go braless but we eat in the hotel restaurant”
“We can’t eat here” Clair said very definitely “Have you seen the menu”
Claire picked up the menu off the desk and gave it me.
“It’s ridiculously expensive”
“My treat” I said throwing the menu on the bed without looking at it
“What is?” she asked suspiciously “the dinner or my going braless”
“Both” I replied

Claire had been in the bathroom for an age getting herself ready but when she finally emerged it was well worth the wait, she looked stunning in her new Parisian outfit.
“Wow” I said, as I looked her over from top to bottom.
Then I looked her over again, starting with her patent leather heels, black tights, a grey knitted dress, patent leather belt round her narrow waist, her unharnessed breast and holding up her soft brown curls a floral hair slide.
“That was well worth waiting for” I said
“Do I look ok?” she asked “is it a bit tarty?”
“You look gorgeous”
I wanted to kiss her there and then but her make up was pristine I didn’t want to disturb it, there would be time enough later to smudge her lippy.
“Now if you would like to take my arm” I said proffering said limb “I would like the honour of escorting you to dinner”

As we walked into the restaurant I could feel the heads turn, and I felt immensely proud.
The lighting was subdued and it was clearly a venue for romantic trysts or secret assignations and strangely I didn’t feel out of place.
The restaurant was quite busy but as it was laid out in discreet booths rather than open tables it was not overly noisy.
We were shown to a booth and I let Claire slide in first then I followed her.
Once we were both settled I ordered champagne.
“Champagne?” Claire said, “Lovely, I am being spoiled”
“Its no more than you deserve” I said
After a glass or two of champers, while we were awaiting the arrival of the first course, Claire said
“Thank you Simon”
“For what?” I asked
“This” she replied with a hand gesture
“Don’t thank me, thank Henri for publishing my mucky story”
“No I don’t mean that” she said and took another big sip of champagne as she tried to find the words.
“I never get to do this” she explained, “the couple’s thing”
“You’ve made it feel like a date” she continued, “I never get to go on a date, with the person I love”
“But this is the next best thing, so thank you” and wiping away a tear she slid out of the booth and rushed off in the direction of the ladies room.
Our relationship had always been, since that first chance encounter in London, best characterized as fuck buddies.
We liked each other and enjoyed each others company but mainly we “enjoyed” each other in the physical sense.
Well I had to admit that this whole trip had felt more like a romantic break than a dirty getaway.
And I also had to admit that I rather liked it and I suppose it was a romance of sorts, we did feel like a proper couple when we were together, but I was in love with Georgia and Claire was in love with Kenny.
The rest was all of the moment.

Claire returned from the ladies just as the starters arrived.
“Ok?” I asked as I squeezed her hand
“Yes” she replied with a smile and a reciprocal squeeze.
Any damage that may have been caused to her makeup from the tears had been efficiently repaired and she looked as stunning as she did before.
Satisfied that all was fine we turned our attentions to the food, which turned out to be wonderful.
After the starters were demolished we thought nothing could possibly surpass it but we were wrong because the main course was sublime.
As we ate we chatted about mutual friends in the village and repeated gossip about those we had no time for.
Just as we were clearing the remaining morsels of ambrosia from our plates we got onto the topic of the Reverent Oliver and the mutual high esteem we held her in.
“I wouldn’t mind her conducting my wedding ceremony,” I said out of the blue
“I don’t think she’ll be around that long” Claire replied
I was just about to refute her foul slur by enlightening her on the disposition of my heart
When she said, “What’s for pudding?”
“You’ve only just had your main,” I pointed out
“I like pudding” she said matter of factly and for some reason blushed.
Then she stood up a little unsteady on her feet and announce
“I need to pee”
And off she went.
It was somewhat curious behaviour but that’s champagne for you.
When she returned I was already perusing the desert menu and salivating at the mere prospect of devouring any one of its delights but when I looked at Claire’s face she looked like she’d already indulged.
“What are you looking so pleased about?” I asked her
“I am being Parisen” she replied enigmatically.
I moved closer to her in the booth and placed my hand on her knee before sliding it up her skirt to discover to my surprise her stocking tops.
I looked at her with raised eyebrows by way of enquiry
“I didn’t want you to rip the crotch out of another pair of tights”
She replied matter of factly
My hand proceeded past her stocking tops up her naked thigh until to my delight I reached her fluffy bush.
“When did they come off” I asked “because I know you had them on when we left the room?”
“When I went to the loo, I slipped them into my handbag” she replied her cheeks flushed “And then I walked through the restaurant “sans culotte””
Claire giggled.
“Wow its very saucy” I said “and you know I like saucy, but why did you do it?”
“I wanted to know what it would feel like” she replied
“And?” I asked
“It felt really dirty” she replied “but in a good way”
And we both laughed and I felt the slightest relief that we had successfully navigated the hazardous terrain of romance and feelings and returned to the safer more familiar territory of sex.
Then we thoroughly indulged ourselves with the desert trolley which was when I began in earnest to stare at her lovely tits, pertly sitting unfettered beneath her knitted dress and I continued to ogle her jiggling puddings during and after the deserts were finished and while the coffee was being served.
“Haven’t you seen enough yet?” she chastised
“Never” I replied “and I’m certainly not the only man or woman in the restaurant admiring your form”
Claire blushed and suddenly became self-conscious and tried to cover her breasts and the now erect nipples.
“You could leave here with any man you choose,” I said truthfully
“I already am,” she said
“You keep talking like that and you might even get lucky”
“You’ll be the lucky one” Claire said draining her cup “now let’s go”

We left the restaurant in a very dignified way considering the amount of Champagne we had consumed though we had only gone about ten yards before Claire had to slip her heels off in the interest of safety.
Though our mutual need of each other was urgent the door to the room opened in a more controlled manner than the night of our arrival and we actually made it to the room proper before we kissed.
It was a long, slow, passionate kiss which, had we not already been aroused would definitely have lit the boilers.
As we kissed I stroked her plump breast through her dress and played with her stiff nipple and she rubbed her thigh against my bulging cock.
After a few moments longer Claire pushed me away and then dropped her expensive new shoes on the floor before starting to undo the belt around her waist while I removed my trousers, pants, socks and shirt, then I helped Claire undo the belt.
Then I turned her around so she was facing the mirror and I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her neck as she hugged my arms.
I could tell Claire was getting impatient as she kept rubbing her arse against my erection so I stepped back a few inches and, inch by inch I undid the zipper on her dress until her back was completely naked all the way down to her bum cleavage.
I slipped both hand inside, cupping her titties and playing with her teats then the dress slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor.
Claire murmured softly as I continued to caress her breasts and she positioned one buttock either side of my cock and rubbed herself up and down me.
I knew as much as I was enjoying the slow seduction that Claire was ready to play so reluctantly my right hand left her breast and moved quickly down her body, my hand briefly brushing her lush bush, before engaging with her creamy pussy.
She began to moan the instant my digits breached her lips, long and low.
“Orrrrrr”
Quietly at first.
Then after she raised one knee onto the desk her cunny really opened for me and they became much louder and more persistent until she came.
Claire climbed off the desk and turned to face me, planting a wet kiss on my lips and grasping my shaft firmly as I wiped my creamy fingers on the desk blotter.
Then between kisses she asked
“Stockings”
Kiss
“On”
Kiss
“Or off?”
Kiss
“On of course” I replied
Kiss
“I thought”
Kiss
“You’d say that”
Kiss
“You pervert,” she said
I picked her up and carried her to the bed and laid her on her back, Claire instantly opened her stocking clad thighs to receive me and then I penetrated her hot honeyed cunt.
I gave her a full length, then another then another as she writhed and moaned beneath me
Claire was biting her lip as she wrapped her black-sheathed legs around me and began clawing my back and I quickened the pace, her squirming pussy creamed my balls and she moaned beneath me.
My throbbing cock thrust deeply into her pussy again and again and her thighs gripped me tightly while I pounded her the pace building steadily faster and faster
Her nails cut deeper into my skin as we moaned and grunted in unison, speeding on and on.
Until we reached maximum velocity, the point of no return, then she shuddered beneath me and we both exploded in utter ecstasy.
And panting with pleasure, there we stayed until morning.

An Antidote To Writers Block (Part 28) A Breath Of French Air (Day One)

After my disgusting display of ungentlemanly conduct with Eleanor Overend, where I divested her of her widows weeds and rogered her on her deceased husbands desk, I was at my lowest ebb.
I awoke the next morning feeling quite simply ashamed of my behaviour.
I had stooped lower than I thought it possible to do.
Now this was a new feeling for me, I had woken the morning after to be greeted by some frightful sights.
I remember waking up and feeling guilty, disappointed, surprised, amazed and sometimes horrified but never ashamed.
If Georgia ever found out what I’d done it would be over between us for certain sure.
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”.
Well there was no point in beating myself up over it,
“What’s done is done,” I said aloud
I just had to find some way to modify my behaviour in future or I would never experience what Gerald and Eleanor had.
As a penance I locked myself away from the sinful world for over a week as I systematically transcribed Gerald’s tapes.
Some of the recordings were just of him speaking into the recorder and they were the most complete in terms of content, but the other ones he recorded secretly as he told the tales to an enraptured audience were just sublime, he was a true raconteur.
When I finally got to the bottom of the box nearly ten days had elapsed and that’s what kept me out of trouble.
I think I was safer on my own, I certainly couldn’t be trusted in mixed company.
Obviously I had Skyped Georgia on a regular basis so it wasn’t like being in solitary confinement.
I sent Georgia some of the recordings as mp3 files which she played to her housemates and they all really enjoyed them.
I spoke to my publisher about the stories and he said I would have to send him something to read before he committed himself, but he was interested in principle but he wanted words on a page, not on a tape.

I was soaking in the bath contemplating whether or not I could be trusted to pay a visit to the Golf club without disgracing myself,
Was the risk that I might jump Dawn Symonds and bang her on the billiard table an unacceptable one.
It was while these deliberations were going on in my head that my mobile phone rang, unfortunately it was on the bed so I got out the bath and padded to the bedroom and picked up the phone
“Hello” I said impatiently, dripping on the carpet
“Oh hello grumpy” the voice on the other end said
“Ah Dr Feelgood I presume” I said recognizing the dulcet tones of Claire Andrews, local GP and occasional carnal companion.
“I have just the thing to cheer up a grumpy old geezer,” Claire said
“And what might that be”? I enquired
“Paris!” she said enigmatically
“Ooh la la” I responded
“Two nights in Paris to be precise” she said, “where you can grab my la la and make me ooh”
“Tell me more”
It transpired that Claire had been asked at short notice to stand in for a colleague at a symposium in Paris.
The Doctor for whom she was deputizing had himself been taken ill, Claire had worked closely with him in the past and was almost fully up to speed on the topic in question.
Claire was one of my guilty pleasures, she was married which used to be a big no-no for me, but I relaxed my attitudes given the right circumstances.
Her husband was seriously disabled and incapable in everyway of pleasuring her; she had remained faithful to him despite this for nine years before I got my hands on her and made an adulteress of her.
Our first get together was unplanned and unexpected but our subsequent outings were anything but.
Our little get together’s were always exciting, exhilarating, mind blowing and exhausting.
I felt the tell tale tingle down below the moment I heard her voice, because I knew what it meant.
Also in my twisted logic a trip away with Claire didn’t infringe on my new found resolve to curb my behaviour because I didn’t think of sleeping with Claire as cheating on Georgia, I looked upon myself more as her respite carer.
Claire went on to say that we would have a two-night stay in Paris and we had first class seats on the Eurostar.
I couldn’t wait trains always gave me a hard on.
“Ok, I’ll see you on Sunday” I said “and by the way I’m not an old geezer”
“You will be by the time I’m finished with you” she retorted and hung up.

I was in a much better frame of mind after speaking to Claire and I decided not to bother with the club aster all.
I was mindful that Georgia was reluctant to use the door key I had given her for fear that she might catch me in blissful union with another woman so I figured I should just insure at the very least not to shag anyone at home just in case, So I thought Paris qualified as a safe distance in this regard.
How long my latest resolution would last I couldn’t possible say it would quite likely go the same way as the “don’t fish in someone else’s pond” rule.
My next job was to fabricate a legitimate reason to be in Paris, so I put in a call to my agent, Lionel Blum.
He had been pestering me for weeks to meet with a French publisher who was apparently eager to serialize one of my books in a popular Parisian “gentleman’s” magazine.
I had been resisting the offer if for no other reason than to prevent my mother saying that I wrote, “French stories” which only she could make sound worse than pornography.
Lionel was delighted that I had reconsidered and asked me to give him an hour and he would try and set something up.
As it turned out only ten minutes had elapsed before the phone rang, I picked it up to hear Lionel say he had set up a meeting for Monday afternoon.
Suddenly I was really looking forward to getting away; or was I really looking forward to getting my end away, either way I was excited.

Normally on our little excursions Claire and I would meet at the Hotel, having made our way there separately, although we had been known to share at least part of the journey home together.
This time though we met at Kings Cross station, now laughably calling its self “Kings Cross International”.
In true clichéd manner we met beneath the clock on the main concourse, Claire was a few minutes late due to a hosiery mishap. As she was leaving the platform a rather impatient city type, Claire called him a banker I was less complimentary though it sounded similar, cut in front of her at the barrier and snagged her tights with his laptop bag.
So not wanting to rummage thru her suitcase at the station she had decided to buy another pair on the concourse, it was a pack of two as it turned out, and after purchasing a rather more inferior product than her usual, had to run down to the ladies to change.
I saw the 5ft 4 inch well groomed doctor approaching, her coat was unbuttoned and it flapped open as she walked.
Claire’s soft curled shoulder length brown hair, that framed her pretty face, bounced in time with her stride and was synchronized perfectly with her breasts which moved hypnotically.
Claire had a very neat figure and although in her early thirties never looked it, even the morning after.
Her intelligent blue eyes fixed on me and a smile was playing about her full lips.
As the doctor and I embraced I drank in her exotic fragrance and felt the slightest of trouser tickles.
Even though she was late we still had time to sit and enjoy an unhurried coffee before boarding the train.

We had both travelled by Eurostar on several occasions previously, I always found it much less hassle than flying and when you disembarked at the Gare du Nord you were actually in Paris and not 20 miles north of it.
Some people were uneasy about travelling beneath the English Channel but it never bothered me, although it normally took me about half and hour to push my resentment to the back of my mind.
The cause of that resentment was the very notion that is perpetuated, that the magnanimous French undertook the engineering feat in order to facilitate Britain’s needs when in reality it was to enable Europe to flood our market with their foreign products.
It certainly wasn’t to enable us to get our merchandise in to French shops.
Now before you scoff at my suggestion just take a look the next time you are on the continent in one of their supermarkets and count the number of British products on display.
I quickly put it to the back of my mind by repeating my usual mantra,
Nobody cares, nobody cares just remember nobody cares
So although I thought Britain was going to hell on a handcart I still chose to go to Paris on Eurostar.
Because apart from it being less hassle than flying it was more comfortable, quieter and kinder to the ears, the only hazard being the inevitable side effect of train travel making me horny.
But as Claire and I were off for a couple of libidinous away days, or more apply “have it away days”, the horniness would not go to waste.
I don’t know what it is about train travel but when the train has settled into its rhythm and the long blinks have started to set in I always get a hard on.
That coupled with the fact that we were headed towards a French destination, added to my arousal.
I don’t know why, but putting the word French in front of another word in the English language can often make it either sexy or dirty.
For example French kiss, letter, lessons, blue, horn, knot, teacher and French leave.
I accept some of them are tenuous, but that’s the way I see them.
To give an example of a fairly innocuous term, which could easily be construed to have a sexual connotation, I will relate a true story.
I went to a wedding once at a Registry office in Bournemouth; it was located in a magnificent building that was originally built in the 19th century as a hotel and spa.
As I was early I chatted to the porter and as it was evident I was interested he gave me a leaflet on the history of the building.
In its heyday as a spa hotel one of the things offered and indeed the hotel was famed for it, was The French treatment.
There were no details in the booklet to suggest exactly what the treatment consisted of but I instantly thought it was something dirty.
It was probably something quite innocent but I prefer to think of it as something mucky.

We boarded the train and she folded her coat over the seat in front of us and we made ourselves comfortable, Claire sat in the corner by the window and I sat beside her.
We chose the opposite end of the carriage to the toilets for no other reason than there tended to be less thru traffic and therefore less likelihood of being disturbed from our slumber.
We were soon under way and enjoying the views as we clickety clacked our way through the Kent countryside, which was bathed in October sunshine.
Beside me the good Dr, was exuding her familiar exotic perfume every time she moved which always stirred my loins but for the moment the urge to fall asleep was greater than my lust.
Even before we reached the British side of the tunnel Claire had cuddled up to me, drawing her legs up under her, then hugging my arm she rested her head on my shoulder and fell asleep.
I glanced down at her and notice a little bit of pale pink bra strap showing, and by adjusting the angle of my head I managed to glimpse the lace edging of her bra inside her sweater.
I thought I could discern the silhouette of a nipple pushing through the wool of her sweater but that could have been my imagination or wishful thinking.
She stirred as if conscious of my gaze but I continued anyway simply because her body was too gorgeous not to.
After a few minutes of perverted drooling the long blinks were setting in and my eyelids were getting heavier and heavier and then I slept.
I’m not sure quite how long I was asleep but we were in the tunnel when I opened my eyes and Claire stirred again.
As I came to she slid one hand down my arm until she was holding my hand.
I thought that was sweet then I began to drift off again but I was brought back to the moment as Claire was tucking my hand between her knees and my palm was resting on the thin bobbly Kings Cross panty hose.
But the cheapness of the tights did not detract from the quality of the flesh they contained so my palm began its trek along the inside of her thigh Claire open her legs enough to aid my advance.
I preferred the silkily smooth 70-denier hosiery she normally wore but even cheaply shod the feel of her inner thigh brought a lump to my pants.
With her head on my shoulder I could hear and feel her steady breathing as my hand advanced.
So it crept ever higher up Claire’s firm thigh as she opened and closed her legs in anticipation and she moaned quietly.
I could feel the heat from her pussy as I neared my objective.
My intention was to finger her through her tights again like I did that first time in London.
So when my hand arrived at the seat of her heat where she had the itch that needed to be scratched I began to rub her pussy through the fabric and her breathing changed instantly and her legs that had opened just enough for my hand to proceed were now at right angles to one another.
The consequence of her action and my rubbing and the inferior quality of her tights caused my fingers to push straight through the gusset; my digits then proceeded inside her sodden pants and into her creamy wet minge.
Shangri-La having been reached I relished looking upon the recipient of my lust as her buttocks clenched and she wriggled and squirmed on the seat beside me.
But I was conscious of the fact we were in an open carriage, sparsely occupied though it might have been, I still had to keep a weather eye on the aisle to ensure we were not discovered.
Obviously the risk of being caught added to the spice, the hardness of my cock and the wetness of her cunny.
Claire for her part was stifling her moans by burying her face in her coat, which she needed to do, as I was deep into the heart of her fire as I frigged her, and she was not a quiet lover.
The train exited the tunnel and sunlight spilled in through the windows.
Then I heard the door open from the adjoining carriage so my fingers exited Claire’s love tunnel and she closed her legs.
I nonchalantly rested my hand on her knee as a passenger opened the door and I smiled to myself as I looked down to where my hand was resting, and noticed the two knuckles worth of both my previously engaged fingers glistened in the French sunshine well coated with Claire’s viscose juices.
The indecisive passenger, meanwhile, paused for a moment then went back the way he came.
Claire, immediately the door closed behind him, swung open her legs and gripping me by the wrist thrust my hand inside the gaping hole in her shredded tights to return to there previous duties.
So as the French countryside hurtled by I attended to her wet gash,
Her cream oozing between my fingers as I stroked her pussy until she closed her thighs and came, letting out a muffled scream inside her coat as she did so.
After a moment or two she relaxed and her thighs released their grip on my hand.
Just being on a train made me horny being on a train with Claire made me more so and after our little divertissement, I had the mother of all erections.
Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to satisfy myself but I was content to wait until we got to the hotel when it would be a hundred times better when I exploded inside her.
“Hmmm” Clair murmured when her head emerged from inside her coat and then she kissed me wetly before cuddling up to me again.
We sat there like that for about half an hour when Claire started fidgeting beside me and I thought, “here we go again” Dr Feelgood can’t wait until Paris.
But then she sat still again, but only for a minute or two, then she began squirming in her seat again before another period of immobility.
“Its no good” she said suddenly sitting up
“What’s the matter?” I asked
“I’m all sticky” she whispered “and uncomfortable”
“Ah” I replied “Well we’d better get you to the hotel pronto and get your wet knickers off then”
“I can’t wait until then,” she said playfully slapping me
“Can you get my bag down?”
I obliged while she rummaged in her handbag for her other pair of tights,
I set her bag down on the seat I had occupied while she discreetly delved inside for something, which I assumed to be unsullied pants.
I then replaced the bag and stepped aside so she could pass.
“Thank you horny,” she said lightly squeezing the lump in my trousers
I choose not to respond to her jibe even though it was Dr Sticky knickers that had initiated the cause of her own discomfort.
I just smiled as I watched her as she walked down the aisle with a very un-lady like gait.

Claire returned about ten minutes later, moist knickers in hand.
“Are you feeling better now?” I enquired
“Definitely more comfortable” she replied and then whispered
“I’m still very horny though” and kissed me slowly and seductively on the mouth.
“The sooner we get to Paris then the better” I added and kissed her back.

The remainder of the journey seemed to take far longer than the reality as our mutual need to shag was becoming all-consuming.
I couldn’t wait to get her out of her sticky knickers and relieve the ache in my balls.
Once we had disembarked at Gare du Nord we made our way quickly to the taxi rank and joined the queue.
Impatiently we waited our turn feeling as if we were stuck in a time warp but eventually we reached the front and got into the waiting cab.
It’s a strange feeling getting into a taxi in a foreign country, not knowing your way around and not knowing the language.
In Paris its even stranger because the cabby doesn’t knows his way around and he can’t speak the language either.
There is nothing quite so disconcerting as getting into a taxi and the drivers first act after you’ve given him the address is to immediately reach for an A to Z.
That said he seemed to quickly plan his route and get us on our way.
In an attempt to distract our libidinous minds from what our bodies wanted to do, we drank in the sights of Paris.
I’ve never been a Francophile by any stretch of the imagination but Paris is a lovely city, sadly it’s full of ill-mannered Parisian’s but you can’t have everything.
After having seen as much of Paris as a man with a burning erection can stand we finally arrived at the Hotel.
As I paid the cab fare I looked up at the grand façade and thought, “this is a cut above the level of the usual establishments we disgrace ourselves in.
Once inside the foyer with its expanse of marble floor and classical pillars I thought what an inordinately long walk of shame we would have to make in the morning.
Claire had been known to wake the guests with her pleasurable screaming orgasms,
However this time as we were spending two nights so we wouldn’t need to concentrate our coupling and she didn’t bother with the special Lazarus pills this trip.
When we reached the rather grand reception desk we were eventually greeted by an Australian woman of indeterminate age who only had two speeds one of which was stop.
Claire was starting to get agitated in her impatience to reach our room and quench her desire.
While the receptionist went through a seemingly endless list of services we might wish to partake of during our stay, in a voice that by antipodean standards passed as posh.
I smiled to myself as I thought there is nothing quite as oxymoronic as the concept of a cultured Australian.
Still she went on, did we want this or did we want that and I had visions of Claire yelling at the woman
“WHAT I WANT IS COCK AND YOU’RE STOPPING ME FROM GETTING IT”
But she just tapped her foot and frowned.
Then like a bolt from the blue the posh ozzie handed Claire the key card and asked if we needed a porter.
Claire accepted the former and I declined the latter and we walked briskly to the lift, to find one waiting for us so we immediately entered and pressed floor 5.
The doors began to close but at the last moment a walking stick appeared in the gap and the doors opened again to reveal a rather large over dressed elderly woman who then gingerly stepped into the lift and pressed 5, thus denying us valuable groping time.
The doors closed and the lift slowly ascended and for no apparent reason stopped at every floor, when we reached the 5th floor the large lady exited first and unfortunately was going our way and was also in our way.
She walked very slowly down the middle of the corridor and because her great size we couldn’t pass her.
So after what seemed like an age we reached our room, on the door knob of which was a room service menu.
I already knew what kind of service Claire wanted once we got in the room, but she was having trouble with the electronic key.
I took the menu card off the doorknob
“Would you like to select from the room service menu madam?” I said in my best posh Australian accent as Claire struggled with the lock.
Eventually after she paused and took a deep breath it worked and the door opened.
She threw her case into vestibule, her coat followed after it.
The good doctor didn’t answer my question, instead she just grabbed my belt and pulled me in to the room I dragged my bag behind me.
Once inside Claire quickly closed the door and began undoing my belt.
With great manual dexterity she unbuckled my belt, unfastened my trousers and yanked my cock out.
“I very good selection madam” I said in mock French this time “and where would you like it served madam?”
She let go of my cock and wriggled out of her skirt.
Then to my great surprise she ripped a whole in the crotch of her tights pulled her panties to one side.
“Right here and right now” she said in a very saucy “Allo Allo” voice and with her arms wrapped around my neck she hoisted herself onto me.
My cock was so hard and her pussy was so wet and welcoming it only took two attempts with me gripping a buttock in each hand before I achieved full penetration.
“Oh God” she exclaimed, “that’s so good”
Then she kissed my mouth and she snorted through her nose as she rose and fell on my shaft.
We stopped kissing and Claire tongued my ear her course rasping breaths urging me on.
I pushed her back against the vestibule wall and thrust deeply into her and she moaned in grateful receipt of each length.
Having her pinned against the wall and with her arms wrapped tightly around my neck while her legs gripped my hips I was afforded the luxury of liberating her tits from their lacy bondage.
My left hand was engaged as an anchor on the doorframe but my right was free and went immediately up inside her sweater.
As I tried to insert my hand between the lacy prison and its occupant I pushed the bra upwards and the under wire stabbed my hand, undeterred however I bravely persevered and groped the round plump breast.
As I squeezed her tit and toyed with her erect nipple the tempo was increasing and her moans were growing louder as was the sound of her buttocks slapping against the plaster as I continued banging her against the wall.
As we reached the summit we were both tiring and I was beginning to think we might have to adjourn to the bedroom when we found our second wind and drove on until through gritted teeth her hoarse panting in my ear told me she was desperately close and with a yelp she cried out in orgasm and I came seconds later empting my aching sack into her.
I’m not quite sure how long we stood there locked in passions embrace but it just felt so good I could have stayed forever.
“Damn” she panted, “that’s what I call room service”
Then Claire laughed lustily which made her muscles contract randomly around my shaft and caused me to twitch.
“Hmmm” we murmured

An Antidote To Writers Block (Part 27) The Black Widow

“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.
“SIMON”
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
Remember Me:

“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.