Keeping Up Appearances

Note: Whilst Gwendolyn refers to Whittaker as her uncle, they are not blood relatives. This is all part of the game to them. Both are well above legal age.

***

“Come.”

The room was stifling hot, a fire that had lain dormant all day, was now purring contentedly in the grate and the heat made the smoke curling from Whittaker’s cigar hang thickly in the air. He was facing the window, his back to her, watching the late evening lovers take the air.

“Did you have a pleasant evening?” He didn’t turn around.

Gwendolyn took off her jacket and shoes. “Quite.”
“Did he try anything?”

She laughed and made her way through his tightly-packed office to the window, whose ledge was just wide enough for her to perch on.

“He was a gentleman – he was the gentleman he was paid to be.” Here she reached forward and took the cigar from his hand. She took a long drag and when he took it off her, blew languid smoke rings into the air, kicking her feet into his thigh. He caught one and held it as he smoked, her toes contained in his fist.

“You’re drunk.” he said after a while.

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Game Face

In honour of today being derby day in Liverpool

***

I take it upon myself to be match day servant.
During the warm ups and pre-analysis I start lunch, and bring drinks. Sometimes I glance up at the screen.
“Are you winning?”
“No.” He frowns
At half time I rest my head in his lap and he absent mindedly strokes my hair but still distracted.
“I hope you win.” I say into his stomach
“Go and check on the pizza.” he replies, gently pushing me.

From the kitchen all I hear is the dull hum of the crowd, punctuated by his subdued yet anguished cries, and swearing.
When I come back in, all is quiet. My customary brief look at score gives an explanation;  2-0 down.

I look at him. He’s still frowning. He knows it’s only a game. Only it isn’t, it’s something binding him to his brothers, his father, no matter how far away they are from one another.
I look back at the screen, then back at my love, bereft.

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The Watcher

First Anita adjusted the drapes, casually, naked from a long, hot shower. Out of the corner of her eye the lights from the apartment opposite flickered on as she heard the bedroom door open and shut behind her.

He was there again. But as she came closer to the window to catch a glimpse, the light was extinguished, and her heart fell a little. No audience tonight. She sighed and turned to her husband, standing in the doorway, removing his sweater.

“Ready?” He asked quietly. She nodded, when the doorbell rang.

“I suppose I’ll answer it, you’re hardly dressed appropriately.”

They shared a small smile before Alan turned and headed downstairs to see who it was.

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Three Square Meals

We’re having dinner with his parents and I’m on my best behaviour, of course I am, bringing wine and flowers and holding his hand like a power supply and admiring baby photos of the man I love. All is well, dinner is planned late, later, later still because timing is not his mother’s strong suit but I am doing well and he is gently stroking my palm with his thumb, which is the reminder I am doing fine.

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Birthday Call

It’s his brother’s birthday. No gifts to exchange, but a phone call. A ritual of fraternal love which must be obeyed.

The TV is on and I’m half watching it, half idling on my phone with one hand on his thigh, proprietary. He smiles at me, and I slide over, cuddling up, my face against his shoulder as he dials.

The call connects and without a single gesture to me, he begins to unbutton his flies, easing his cock out and stroking it almost without thought. I watch, mesmerised, and here is my hand on his thigh again, creeping closer to his shuttling fingers.

I reach out to touch him as his cock hardens but he pushes my fingers away, and as he commiserates on football woes, his hand is now on my shoulder, my cheek is soft against the rigidity of his thigh, his cock is in my mouth and he’s stroking my hair as the football chat drones on above my head.

He’s hard now, I’m using my hand to guide his erection further and further into my mouth, expanding in my throat and his hand is on the back of my head, holding me in place as I begin to gasp and struggle and he takes the phone away from his mouth just long enough to whisper “Shhhhhhhh. Don’t make a sound.”

I could be naughty and use my hand and my tongue and make him moan and what a happy birthday that would be. The sound of him exhaling slowly through his nose as he gently fucks my throat is tantalising; I wonder how it sounds to the caller.

“She’s fine. She’s just relaxing at the moment.”

I do feel oddly relaxed; he’s moved his hand a little so he can fuck me harder and I can breathe through my mouth if I want to. I reach over with my free hand and wave in the general direction of the handset.

“She says Hi.”

“Habby Buthhhhday!” I enunciate with difficulty and something in my tongue forming the ‘th’ makes his hips jerk violently. I take this as permission to use the free hand on his heavy, straining balls even though it probably isn’t and the only thing I hear is the phone dropping to the floor with a hurried “Bye” before both of his hands are gripping my face, he’s using me violently now and muttering how I’m naughty and filthy and couldn’t help myself and as he comes down my throat without warning I’m so contented it might as well be my birthday and I swallow my gift down gratefully.

***

 

Masturbation-Monday-badge-1

 

She

She may be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell.
-Elvis Costello, She

Sometimes you write the thing. For Amy (and her Catsuit)

I can’t think straight.

I can think in curves though.

In the undulation of hips and the swell of breasts. In the soft security of her belly.

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Pool

I had a dream last night. This is a version of it.

I’m lying on my stomach in the shallow end of the pool. It’s barely a pool really, it’s a complex – a simulated beach with a funfair thrown on top, I am hidden far away but still the screams of children hurtling along the chutes and slides above my head filters through. It is hardly peaceful here.

Still, I am alone. I am serene. I half-know what is going to happen as I lie in the gentle waves, pert bum sticking out of the water, breasts thrusts out of my two piece swimming costume. As I am thinking about this, They arrive. Two men, the handsome, gregarious, laddy type. Thick around the neck and upper body, they approach me, talking amongst themselves but looking over again and again.

“Look at those tits.” one says, talking at me, not to me. He has dark hair. There are noises of agreement.

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It’s been a long time.

It’s been so long since I sucked a dick I think I might have forgotten how to do it.

I’ll try.

I’ll reach out my hand towards the imaginary cock and recreate the warmth and specific softness of a burgeoning erection, heavy and magical in my palm.

To begin, I trace my thumb from the base up to the head, glistening in the harsh bedroom light. Then I’ll follow that same journey with the flat of my tongue and this will trigger his long exhalation of breath.

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Work Drinks

This is the sequel of a sort to Girlfriends

***

I’d noticed her before, all bossiness and tits.

Not her friend, though. She was new. A dark-haired piece in a too-small dress. It clung to her body, to everywhere. Stomach rolls, and fat acres of thigh.

They might as well have been on a date, ignoring the rest of us, crammed in the smallest bar of the pub because the Christmas do hadn’t been booked until October. I turned back to the knot of management behind me and when I next allowed my gaze to flutter over to those women, they were still talking, avoiding the rest of us. They could have been on a date. Lesbian canoodling on the company dollar.

I snorted into my pint and, catching Jay’s eye, went to join in with the departmental singalong of We Are the Champions. And every so often, I’d turn back and look at them, at their heads bent together, still ignoring the rest of us. I must have known.

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Switch

So, the two protagonists from Meet Me There were not contained to that tale alone. I think this is from earlier on in their story. Enjoy.

***

Looking back, it all started to go a bit weird when we decided to buy a strap-on.

I met her in Tesco’s. Of course, where else? Where do people usually meet perfect whirlwinds of women who paw at you incessantly and make you glow? Lidl?

I was fingering a stalk of broccoli. Deciding; was I feeling virtuous enough to eat green things, or was I going to get chips on the way home? She was hiding behind a stack of Easter eggs, pretending to be a bunny. As you do. She did look slightly ashamed when she noticed me staring at her. She was wearing shorts, even though it had been snowing all day.

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