Of Time and Stars

The boy and his girlfriend. continued.

2009-07-07T10:00:00.003+01:00

It was about ready to be changed anyway, by the look of it. I told the boy to take it and flush it down the loo and he scampered off and did so while I continued to enjoy myself with my fingers and my pussy and by looking critically at Justine's body. She began, sort of reluctantly, to look at me too, half daringly, half confused. When her boy came back I told him what I wanted him to do. "I want you to stand behind her and feel her pussy like you were doing just now" the boy did this, his cock bobbing against her bum cheeks lovingly. "Now shove your fingers up her as far as you can........." Justine yelped when the boy did so, almost losing her balance, very nearly falling on top of me, which is what I'd hoped she would do. "Come closer" I said "So that I can feel both of you" The boy propelled Justine forward with his fingers until she stood between my knees. "How many fingers have you got up her" I asked "Two!" the boy said. Justine's skinny body jerked and wriggled when I touched her, my fingers, sticky from my own cunt juices, slipping into her slot as if they belonged there. Oh she was so wonderfully hairy! I don't think I've ever seen such a hairy cunt before or since. and she, silly little girl, had no idea what a turn on it was. She jerked and gasped when I probed her clitty then groaned when one finger of mine joined the two her boyfriend already had inside her. I could smell her then, arousal, fright, period and maybe just a little piss too. Yes, I thought, very likely she will soon be wetting herself. Then, to my surprise she began to grunt deeply, then jerked and cried out when her cunt spasmed hot with her first cum.

The boy and his girlfriend (continued)

2009-07-06T07:45:00.004+01:00

Oh hell yes, I was looking forward to humiliating her and while her man was out in the carpark, collecting the spare clothing which she would most definitely need was as good a time as any to begin. She was unusually hairy, as I've said, her triangle bushy in the extreme and extending upwards very nearly as far as her belly button. The dark shape of her crease was clearly visible, and quite prominent, even with her legs as close together as they were but I could not see anything of her cunt. She'd a lot of hair under her arms too I noticed in passing, mentally reminding myself to go back there later. I made her stand up in front of me, which she did reluctantly and with a vacant expression on her face. A bruise was starting on the tit I had pinched I saw to my satisfaction. So she stood there bony legs pressed together as tight as she could get them, skinny body quivering with frightened anticipation. I looked at the way the hair grew on her belly, tapering up to a point at the top of her pubes and fading into the sort of soft down more like that of a baby. In fact she wasn't much more than a baby herself by the look of her, I thought. Take away those little tits and that bushy front and there'd be so little left of her that a ............ "I got her stuff!" the boy said clattering loudly in at the door. Justine jumped, began to say something, then thought better of it. "Good!" I said "Put it out of the way somewhere then get your clothes off quick!" Out of the corner of my eye I saw him stare at his girlfriend then, as he clattered away into the corner of the room I turned my full attention on her again. "I want you to stand with your feet further apart!" I told her "Much further than that!" I said louder when she moved them only a fraction. She made a little noise, not exactly a whimper but something close to it and her feet moved apart another half an inch. "My dear!" I said quietly "In a moment I am going to bite both your tits very hard, unless you do as I tell you. Now, put that foot there, and that foot.........." I kicked each of her ankles in turn "there, so that I can see the shape of our cunt properly!" To give her her due she did as she was told and opened her legs at last. I lounged back on the sofa and looked at her, at her downcast eyes and childish little face, at her bony shoulders and bruised little tits. Oh dear she was a sorry looking little thing and I did so much want to abuse her. .............. When her boyfriend reappeared, semi erect and looking very eager, I told him to stand behind her close enough to touch her up. His right hand went to her crotch immediately and began fumbling. The girl whimpered again then gasped as his fingers spread her cuntlips. She jiggled self-consciously, trying to keep her balance, not looking anywhere, certainly not at me. So I pulled my skirt up as high as my waist and thrust my knees wide apart so that she could see my cunt. The boys reaction was immediate. His cock stiffened magnificently and his fingers began to move methodically in the jungle covering the crotch of his girlfriend. "Somewhere in there" I said to him "You will find a little bit of string.............." He leered at me, remembering the way I'd tasted. "Get hold of it and pull the tampon out" I began to masturbate slowly while he groped and fumbled, tugging at this and that and making her yell. Finally he found the rip cord and pulled the tampon out and I thought the girl was going to die of embarrasment when he did so.

The boy and his Girlfriend, (continued)

2008-12-05T20:37:00.001Z

“Do you indeed!” I said

The boy nodded eagerly.

“The same as you did to me, you remember. In your kitchen!”

Well I remembered it all well enough. He’s bitten me quite hard too, at the time, in between choking when he got more in his mouth than he could gulp down quickly.

“I remember!” I agreed, looking at the girl. She appeared neither worried nor eager, that I could see. She simply looked small and thin and rather bored or maybe just a teeny bit frightened. She’d pulled her knickers right up again and now sat defensively hunched up with her legs tight together and her arms crossed in front of her little tits.

“I don’t suppose you thought to bring a change of clothes for her did you?” I asked. Practical considerations like this rarely occur to a man who is thinking only of getting his cock inside something as quickly as he can. But to my surprise the boy grinned and nodded.

“We brought a whole bag full of stuff!” he said. “out in the car……..”

“Best put something on and go and get it!” I suggested “while I see to little Justine here!”

The boy grinned filthily and went to look for his trousers. I walked over to where Justine was lurking and sat down next to her.

“Is that the way you feel really and truly?” I asked her quietly, and in the tiniest of tiny voices she said “Yes……”

“Alright!” I said “So long as I know. I don’t want to go against anyone’s wishes.

Well that was true enough and I’d learned the hard way about so much of it, the way one person’s usual might be someone else’s fetish. For instance, a man who wants to be stripped naked and beaten with a leather belt by a woman would be repelled by the suggestion that the same things be done to him by a man. Its as complicated as life itself really and sorting it all out is one of the real joys of doing it.

I looked sideways at Justine and made a mental note of the way she was sitting. She was hiding herself, her body, or at east the vulnerable front part of it, probably quite unconsciously, with her arms and her legs. It was a typical indication of a passive demeanour and one which I found particularly appealing.

“He is going to fuck you as soon as he gets back!” I told her plainly.

Justine barely moved he head.

“And I am going to fuck you too, when he has finished!” I told her “With a great big rubber dildo that I have”

She made some small noise in her throat and shivered ever such a little bit.

“You know only filthy sluts allow themselves to be fucked when they’ve got their period, don’t you?” I asked.

Justine half nodded, half shook her head, so I put my hand on her left tit.

“And Justine” I went on, pulling her towards me sharply “While he is fucking you I am going to be sitting on your face”

She squealed, partly in surprise and partly from the sudden pain in her tit.

She squealed again, louder this time and squirmed too, when I shoved my other hand roughly between her legs.

“And when he’s done” I hissed at her “I am going to piss all over you and make you drink it……!”

I was holding her upper body against my own now, one hand gripping her breast so hard that I could feel my fingertips through it and the other forcing apart her quivering thighs.

She writhed and howled but I held onto her firmly, one hand increasing the pressure on her tit until I was certain I’d cause her permanent damage. Then my other hand encountered the material of her knickers, though quite whereabouts on her crotch I was not at first certain. All I knew was that it felt very hot and very wet. Then with a little sigh of resignation Justine stopped whimpering and relaxed.

“That’s better!” I told her “Now I want you to take off those little knickers”

If there was any hesitation it was only momentary. Then her hands moved with a smooth familiarity, her bum lifted and the little bit of crumpled cotton slid swiftly down her legs.

“Right off!” I instructed “I don’t want you pulling them up again!”

“I…… I won’t!” she whispered. Leaning and reaching to push them down over her feet.

Oooh I was aching to feel her by this time. Dying to shove my fingers deep inside her. I wanted to humiliate her and masturbate her, bite her and kiss her, all at the same time, but not before I’d got her onto the floor between my knees and made her lick my cunt.

The boy and his girlfriend.

2008-11-23T23:09:00.002Z

So she got up out of the sofa and took her trainers off carefully. As if she thought someone might steal them, that was the way it looked to me. Then she undid the front of her jeans and pushed them down her thighs quite slowly until they were down as far as her knees. She had little white panties on underneath, washed out cotton ones with hardly any substance left in them at all. The shadow of her triangle darkened the front of them and a good deal of wispy hair stuck out of the sides, suggesting she might have an interestingly hairy cunt. Too many girls are shaved now, don’t you think. Once, not so long ago a hairless minge was almost unheard of. Now it is the norm.

But hairy or not she was bloody skinny! Her pelvis looked ready to tear itself right through her skin and I swear I could see every single one of her ribs. She didn’t look at me as she stood there, didn’t look anywhere in fact, except straight down at her feet with her little tits just sitting there, flat and miniature, as if they’d been stuck on as an afterthought and her cheap blue jeans bundled up around her bony knees.

I understood why the boy found me so sexually attractive. I was the exact opposite in every way to the girlfriend he had. The fact that I was old enough to be his grandmother was probably another factor to be considered I suppose. A lot of men are looking for a mummy figure, aren’t they, but what was his girlfriend looking for I wondered? If she continued to stand there in the way that she did I’d probably have no way of knowing.

I smiled at her, sort of by way of encouragement, wanting to feel her tiny tits in my mouth and her bony buttocks in my hands but she didn’t look at me. She just stood there, undecided, while her boyfriend fiddled about with me and I in turn masturbated him casually. I didn’t want him to cum too soon but I didn’t want him to go soft on me either, though I don’t think there was too much chance of that. I fiddled and unzipped my skirt then lifted myself up enough to slip it off, the boy taking his fingers out of me at just the right time.

Then he got up off the sofa and went over to her. I don’t know if it was all prearranged what they did and I don’t really care, he bent down and took those jeans off her anyway while she simply stood there and stared at the floor. For a moment I wondered what her problem was, if indeed it was a problem. If it wasn’t why the hell had she still got her knickers on.

The boy got behind her put his arms round her waist and began to play with her little tits, getting her nipples between his fingers and thumbs and pinching them for a minute before moving both hands lower to push her knickers down as far as her knees. She made a little protesty sort of noise then and I saw why she’d been reluctant to take them off. She’d got her period, I could see the little bit of string dangling when she moved her legs.

“Justine is on and is worried about going any further” the boy said.

Justine eh? I thought. “Well why the hell did you bring her?” I said.

“She said she wanted to watch you and me” the boy retorted “She didn’t think you’d want her to join in”

Well that statement annoyed me a bit, I have to say. They’d come up here, bold as brass, played about with me and allowed me to play about with them, now when I wanted something back, just a feel of another pussy, oh no, that was too much to expect. Well I was having none of it!

“Justine!” I said forcefully “I don’t care if you are on, I still want to feel your cunt!”

The girl shivered and the boy made a rough sort of noise in his throat.

“Told you!” he said to her sharply.

“And if you want to fuck me!” I went on, looking at him “You’d better make her do as she is told!”

Justine hesitated then began to pull her knickers up again. She looked at her boyfriend appealingly.

“That’s it!” I said “Either the two of you get back on the sofa or you can get dressed and bugger off home!”

“V..Vicky….” the boy said “I….. I think you will have to make her…….”

Justine cowered when he said this. Actually cowered, I tell you, as if she’d already been hit. Then the boy grabbed her by her arm. dragged her back to the settee and more or less forced her down into it.

“She likes to be made…...” he said lamely “Forced to….you know what I mean….?”

I nodded. It was all too familiar to me. The man and his new bride who wouldn’t suck his cock, the man didn’t like fucking his girlfriend in the light, the young man who couldn’t get an erection without looking at pictures of his mother in the bath, a little girl who wanted to be fucked insensible by a well endowed man……… hell I could make a fortune sorting out other people’s problems but that would leave me no time to sort out myself! If a man wanted to fuck his daughter or a boy his mother I could see no reason why they shouldn’t, if all were in agreement and old enough. And if a boy brought his girlfriend to be chastised or humiliated, or anything else for that matter, told me about it in front of her and she made no protest, who the hell was I to deny him the opportunity.

“She wants to be made to feel dirty and used” the boy said. “she told me ages ago then she thought I forget about it, but I didn’t!”

The girl on the sofa shivered visibly but would neither look at me nor say anything to confirm or deny it.

“I want you to piss on her” he told me “On her face and hair and all over her tits……….”

Oho! I said to myself. I am beginning to like the sound of this.

The boy brought his girlfriend this time.

2008-08-09T22:46:00.003+01:00

I've been a bit under the weather lately and not up to writing much. I'm alright now, just behind with everything, especially this blog. But the boy came back for a third session with me, much to my surprise. and he brought his girlfriend too, which was interesting I must say! Oh she is a thin little thing with straggly hair and bony hands. Looks like she could do with a good meal but suppose she is quite unusual as there are so many fat and overweight people around. I was very wary at first, not sure of the situation or how much he'd told her. I think she was surprised too because of my openness with her, well with them both. After a while it got easier to talk to her though, I think my lack of morals did it! Well he wanted to show off to her, I know he did, because he made a big thing of groping me right where she could see. He told me he'd told her all about what we'd done and she nodded when I looked at her quizzically. When I asked him what he wanted to do this time he sort of grinned then said he wanted his girlfriend to join in with us whatever we got up to. More or less what he'd talked about before with no details then either. she seemed eager enough, or at least she didn't slap his face, or mine, have a tantrum or anything, so I put most of the lights off in the room except that little table lamp by the door and the one on top of the bookshelf then made them move apart enough so I could sit down between them on the sofa. She was reluctant to sit that close to me at first but of course he was no bother, putting his arms around me straight away and kissing me as he'd done before with his tongue in my mouth. That went on for a bit, progressing into a grope of my tits which turned into a stretch across for a feel of his girlfriends tits too. That was a good start & encouraged her to get closer to me again so he could reach her easier. It wasn't long before I had my top off and my bra too, the girl looking on with interest by this time. He stripped off then, everything in a heap on the floor without me even asking and bloody hell wasn't his cock good and hard. That was what did it for his girlfriend ultimately I think! She must have been feeling randy enough by that time because she got his knob in her mouth right away. Which gave me the opportunity I'd been waiting for, the chance to get hold of her little tits. God she was only about a 32b, hardly worth putting a bra on for, but her nipples came up lovely when I fiddled with them. She let me pull her wooly off over her head and undid the bra herself, though she was hardly even inside it by them. It was a tiny scrap of a thing! The boy had taken his cock out of her face so I could get her jumper off & didn't put it back after I had. Instead he just stood between us and for the first time in his life was able to play around with two sets of tits. Things went on from there of course with both of us sucking his cock in turn which inevitably resulted in the two of us kissing. No problem there, she took to it everso easily, we had hold of each others titties by that time anyway so it followed I suppose logically that he would want to feel our cunts. Well she had jeans on, did I say that already? and didn't seem all that eager to remove them, whereas I only had on that old plaid skirt with nothing underneath, so there was nothing in the way of his fingers when they wandered down that way. She'd have to stand up to get her jeans off of course and at some point soon I wanted her to do it. I was getting steam up by that time and wanted to get a good look at her crotch, you see so I let her see, quite plainly that her man had several fingers inside me, which wasn't difficult as I was so wet then I said to her "Come on love, get the rest of your things off" not for one moment thinking she would. Then he said much the same thing to her as well so she really had no choice in the matter. Right I'll post this part and write up the rest later..........

The boy came back for more

2008-06-26T10:21:00.001+01:00

He came back again today, did my little boy. All full of himself and what he wanted to do to me. He’d told his girlfriend about me too, he said, told her what we’d got up to the other afternoon and what I’d done to him but his girlfriend had just laughed, said I was a dirty old cow and who ought to know better, something like that anyway and told him to get on with it. She also asked if she could come along and joint us one day, just to see how her boy got on with someone else. Someone as old as me I reckon she meant but I didn’t say anything. I said I’d have no objections to that, it wasn’t as if it wasn’t something I hadn’t done before, if you see what I mean. Well we made a date to do it while he got undressed. Oh his cock was as good as I remembered it as were his fingers when they got hold of me. This time he was less afraid to ask for what he wanted, more at one with himself, something like that anyway. Starting out he wanted to lick me, while I was still hot and wet from the clothes I’d been wearing he said. So I let him do that, bending, like he asked, over the kitchen sink with my arse shoved out into his face. And guess what, as I suspected all along, not only did he want to lick my cunt but he wanted to get a taste of my arse as well. So I let him feel me while he pushed the tip of his tongue in between my cheeks. I suppose when I’d sat on his face the last time he’d got the idea. he felt good though, two fingers inside me getting me wetter than wet with his other hand dragging at an already sagging quite enough thank you right tit. But it was his tongue in my arse that made me feel really good this time. Dunno why it was, it just happened to feel like that. Well I pushed my backside into him, spreading my feet a long way apart so as not to restrict his access and do you know, after a while, what with his busy little fingers and his tongue I really felt like I was going to come. Strange as it was, so soon, there was another feeling too, the definite feeing of wanting to piss. He’d not mentioned any liking for watersports as yet so I thought I’d just go a on with the sensation and see what happened. He was well away anyhow, with his grunting and slurping and I hadn’t even got hold of him properly yet. I suppose it was inevitable though, the more I relaxed into his face and hand the more the urge to piss came over me. The kitchen floor is tiled. Wall to wall so there’d be no problem mopping up the mess, it was just that, well I wasn’t certain how he’d take it. I’d been making some little noises for a while by then, by way of encouragement and all that, you understand, so when the first trickle of piss started I don’t think he was all that surprised. Except when he pushed his fingers back in the little trickle stopped. I moved a little, eased my arse a bit away from his face, crouched a bit more crookedly and, the instant his fingers slid out enough for me to do so, I began to piss all over his hand. To my delight he was instantly excited by this, taking his other hand off my tit and his mouth away from my arsehole in order not to miss any of it. So I let it all go as casually as I would had I been sitting on the loo instead of crouching in my kitchen a couple of inches off some man’s face. Damn me if I didn’t hear him gulping too, drinking my piss as quickly as he could swallowing it but letting a lot of it splash onto his head and chest too. And onto my feet and legs too of course, until it made quite a considerable puddle on the floor. When I’d done I felt his mouth close over my cunt and his teeth bite hard on my lips. I didn’t say anything, not wanting to break the spell, waiting for him to finish in his own time while the orgasm he’d very nearly brought me to grumbled away inside me, impatient to be set free. Did you enjoy that? I asked, when he finally took his mouth away. God yes! He said, I loved every minute of it. Its something my girlfriend often wants to do to me. Will you fuck me now? I asked, the grumbling unabated. The boy nodded, only if you’ll kneel on the floor in all the mess” so there it was, it was coming out of him now, all his little fantasies and things. He played with my arse again for a little while before getting up like a dog and shoving his lovely cock right into me. Even them he wasn’t content to leave my arse alone, dunno what it was that attracted him so much but no sooner had his cock got into my cunt as far as it could than his fingers went barging their way into my arse hole as well. That was one of the rare occasions I actually orgasmed before my man, only by a few seconds mind but there it was, a grunting groaning yes yelling come with my hands and knees slipping all over the floor in the mess. I would have lain in it if he’d asked me to, cold as it might have been, but instead he sort of sat back on his haunches, cock withering down droopily between his thighs and looked keenly at the back of me. Fucking hell Vicky! He said enthusiastically. I’d never have believed an old woman like you could act so sexily. Huh! I wasn’t sure whether to smack the boy or kiss him. Instead I got up, stood wetly in front of him and said commandingly. Now you’ve had your oats you must clear up the mess you have made for me! He looked at me askance. Before you get dressed! I said. And that’s how I managed to have a naked teenage boy mopping my kitchen floor when Marge, my neighbour called round unexpectedly.

Toy Boy or toyboyish.......

2008-06-25T12:44:00.003+01:00

Well this one was certainly much better if a little startled at first by my straightforwardness. I'd made no bones about it, what I wanted and told him right from the start. I think he had some old fashiioned ideas about older women, well I soon put him right on that too. I asked if he'd a fantasy he'd like to explore or something he'd always wanted to do that he could tell me about. He asked me to tell him how old I was and when I did he said that was one of his fantasies. It's my birthday today, I told him, I'm sixty two, so how do you feel about fucking a lady old enough to be your granny? He sort of laughed as he fingered me, surprised at how wet I was I think, pleased too that I still had all my hair. So many women now are shaven, arent they? After a while the excitement goes, don't you think? I sucked his cock for a while, got him so hard it felt just like my dildo, then I got him up me for the first time. Right up hard and wonderful where he wanted to be. I said I wanted him to go as rough as he liked and not to worry about anything, so he banged away like a lunatic but soon got out of breath. I told him to talk to me, tell me what he wanted to do and so on, asked him how it felt to be fucking someone as old as me. I think it was the thught of that which made him come so much and yell and shout out like a little boy when he did. I let him lie for a while to recover even though my right arm had gone dead underneath him with his weight. He didn't take long to come round, get up and want to play again so I made him suck some of his stuff out of my cunt to begin with. I'm not sure he'd tasted his own come before but he certainly did this time, because when he showed reluctance I made him lie on the floor at the top of the stairs so I could sit on his face. I gave him no mercy then, and to be fair he asked for none, so that in that way I had my first proper good orgasm with him. I made him coffee afterwards, standing in the kitchen with a little remnant of his stuff running down my leg. I gave him a bit of tit with his coffee and biscuit and told him how good he'd been. I think he wanted to hear that. I'm sure he did in fact because as he was getting dressed he asked me for another date. I just put a dressing gown on to see him to the door, in order for him to have a quick feel before he went. I knew he'd want to do that! And, best of all we agreed another date, which is tomorrow. Wait awhile and I'll tell you what we got up to then! XXVickyXX

Paralysed?

2008-06-22T09:11:00.002+01:00

Well very nearly! I sat on him a bit too hard I think, in my eagerness. Made him wince and go soft on me. I couldn't get him hard again, no matter what I did so I said get on with it and suck me instead. In all my years I've never encountered a man who wouldn't do that. Until now! Oh yes, most are not very good at it and some are bloody useless but most will try with hardly an invitation. Not this one! This one lay and shivered, as if he was cold, a little dribble of stuff sneaking out of his wrinkled end. I don't like the taste, he said, looking at the wall, dunno how he could say that. He didn't try me so how would he know? But he lay there like a dummy, ot doing anything and no, before you ask, I won't be seeing him again.

not here for so long

2008-06-03T22:15:00.002+01:00

...........not here for so long, seems like years and time passes so quickly. Winter into summer, tho you'd hardly know. Same worries, same fears, same rubbish going round in my head. Toenails need trimming, hair needs colouring to hide the grey. I need a fuck, maybe two or three, a good meal with someone sympathetic and a good sleep with someone warm............ rain and darkness mar the window, ships dock and lorries roar. I have a headache, a heartache and a bad taste in my mouth which can only be the remnants of my supper takeaway. I am cold, empty and full of regret. listless. directionless, aimless. and of course naked. Nothing new there then! He hasn't phoned and I am glad. No excuses to make like that, no pleasantries to think up, no endearments to lie. I've been not here for so long it seems like forever. Maybe it is, for if I've not been here then nobody else has either...........

Paradise. We could all do with one of them.

2008-02-08T09:57:00.000Z

Paradise! Whats yours? Alright then, whats your idea of it? I know what mine is, one of them anyway. A sandy beach on a warm coast with warmer seas without any sharks. There'd be palm trees for shade and coconuts and a shaggily thatched house on stilts a little way back behind the dunes. I expect I'd have enough to eat without having too much and getting fat, likewise stuff to drink and enough to occupy my mind and body in order not to get stiff and bored. My lovers would be both male and female, both young and old but all extraordinary. Paradise! It's what you make it, isn't it?

Parasite.

2008-02-07T09:53:00.000Z

Ivy is not a parasite, neither are mistletoe and honeysuckle, whereas a lot of the stuff which comes here from eastern 'europe' is.

The part two which was banned by Deviant Art.

2008-02-07T09:40:00.000Z

It pays to advertise ……………………………………………. part two. So I fingered myself for him while he watched me, his cock bobbing and waving like some great worm searching for it’s hole. Frank always brings out the worst in me, no I mean he encourages me to let it come out. His hands were on his hips now, his knees slightly bent as he looked down at me. “Tell me what you’d do with her, I said!” he hissed. Hell, where would I start, I wondered, not wanting to say I’d beat her straight away. “I….I’d make her undress…….” I suggested “Stupid cow!” Frank said “She’s been undressed already. I tore all her clothes off earlier, remember?” So that was how it was going to go. Rough from the start, well that was okay. Between his feet I nodded mutely. “I want you to pull her hair, bite her, smack her around a bit” Frank told me forcefully. “I’m already doing that, Frank” I said. “And in a moment I am going to tie her up good and tight!” I knew what he wanted me to say. I know him of old so nothing surprises me. I’d say he knows me pretty well enough too. Well enough to know how much I wanted to sink my teeth into a really meaty pussy. One just like the girl in those photographs had. Sink my teeth into them until it made her scream and scream. At the same time I knew he’d want to have a go at her with his favourite vibrator, a nasty red rubber thing shaped like some deranged designer’s idea of a normal sized big prick. One more suited to a pony than a man! The trouble was you see, Frank would rather shove it into her arse than her pussy. I know that because he has done it to me. Yes of course it hurts, especially when you’re not expecting it. When you’re tied up blindfolded and gagged that is. There should be a law against such things, probably is…….. but lubrication is everything and the more of it the better! “Frank, I want to bite her” I said. He nodded, looking down at me thoughtfully “Tell me where!” he said. I was playing with him now, playing with him almost as much as I was playing with myself, riding along on the plateau of couldn’t care less, steadily, inexorably towards the edge. “I want to bite her minge” I groaned at him grimly. The tiniest grey jewel of mucus appeared at the end of his prick “Tell me again slut!” he commanded. In a moment we would get ourselves close together again. It always happened. It always did. Ninety six times out of one hundred Frank’d want to come inside me………… I watched him dribble, watched him writhe when I told him again “Frank I am going to bite her cunt!” “Bitch, bitch, bitch!” he said. Then there was just time to turn over, scramble onto hands and knees before, like some sort of wild animal he got down behind me. God, oh God, he was so big! Like a bar of hot hard rubber barging its way inside me. Like I said, Frank is an arse man at heart. Anything to do with bottoms and he is happy! The expected slaps came almost instantly, the sharp sound of them resonating in the room. “You’d have to gag her!” Frank said “Otherwise she’d scream the place down” He was hard into me now. Gorgeously and very close to being painful. It always gets me like that, up that way. Something relaxes inside……... He slapped me some more. Buttocks again, first of all then down the sides of my thighs. until I began to burn both inside and outside. I can take any amount of that! Then he was coming, mmmm, I recognised the feeling, recognised the way his him trembled against me. So, being a good and dutiful wife I let him have his way, kept my own needs to myself for the time being. It was only the start anyway, I knew. In a while Frank would look at the photos again and there would I be? Spread eagled on the bed more than likely, with some of that soft silky rope we’d recently bought. He is always a noisy sod when he orgasms and like a lot of men he cries out the word ‘no!’ a lot. Odd that is, don’t you think, because by the time they’ve got that far no ‘no!’ on earth is going to stop them. Never mind! I am used to it. In my own way I suppose I am equally as noisy. Yes, it is fortunate we have no neighbours! Let me ask you something: can you feel it, really feel it, when a man squirts his stuff inside you? I mean, can you actually feel the rush and the splash like a tidal wave? Hmmmm? I think you’d be surprised, disappointed even, by the amount of ejaculate even the best orgasm produces. A dessert spoon full at the most, if you’re lucky, if he hasn’t had you for a while, a teaspoonful or less, is more likely. Of course you will argue the point but I’d have to have the proof in front of me and, knowing what you know already would you trust your man for a single moment with me? So if I tell you I felt his gush of stuff surge into every chamber and orifice you’d know I was exaggerating, wouldn’t you? If I told you it spurted out of my nose and ears too, you’d laugh your damn head off, right? Right! Even bloody so, that is what it felt like. It always does for me, as I’ve said, when we do it doggy. Then I had to press my head and shoulders against the floor in order to stop my tits wobbling off. Which of course raised my rear end even higher so far as Frank was concerned. Oh dammit yes yes! The Kama Sutra has nothing on us! I made my usual appreciative noises, those squeaks and muted howls which signify I really do enjoy being used as a sperm bank. In turn he smacked my arse even harder and renamed me several new combinations of whore and slut. Then we fell in a heap on the carpet. Literally! Well my knees are not what they were and his once magnificent member shrank to a slippery sliver of skin almost instantly. Synchronised deep breathing was all we had left! ************** Oh there was a time, not that long ago, when the pair of us would have gone on all day. Then Frank got a desk job and I got menopausal (which frightened Frank immensely) Our joint girlfriend moved away and my boyfriend got married (and his wife found out about me) You know, life is complicated enough already without the added attraction of a semi naked newly wed clad only in a torn nightie weeping at your window at midnight while her new husband (the ex-boyfriend) grins sheepishly from the front seat of the Beamer he has, in his haste managed to park on your lawn. Shit, there is a story there, and a good one, in that little episode alone! We took some time out, had a foreign holiday or two. Just to cheer ourselves up a bit, you see. Frank caught crabs from a dusky maiden in the Seychelles while I got a nasty itch from her partner. Dammit! Like I said, life is much too bloody complicated. Worse, when we got back from the trip we discovered we’d won some money on the lottery. Not the jackpot, you understand, but a substantial amount, nonetheless. Enough to ensure our comfort for the rest of our lives. I tell you, suddenly being richer by three quarters of a million does give you a different outlook on things. It sounds a lot, doesn’t it, seven hundred and ninety three thousand, six hundred and fifty three pounds and thirty one pence. Certainly it does! We gave the thirty once pence to charity, bought ourselves a Chinese takeaway and went home to bed. Three days later when we emerged from the wreckage of our bedroom we both had crabs and both had the itch (sexually transmitted diseases are like that, aren’t they?) In that time we’d fucked each other to a standstill, broken the poor old bed beyond repair along with the dressing table and both mirrors in the wardrobe, Frank had convinced himself he had a heart condition and I walked with a not insignificant limp. You can do these things when you get carried away, you know. “Come along my dear” Frank said, as we staggered towards the shower “Let's get cleaned up. We have got some shopping to do!”

introducing..........My Old Aunt Sizzie.

2008-02-02T09:07:00.000Z

Aunt Sizzie and the Unwanted Visitors My old Auntie Priscilla is a Witch. She makes no secret of it. In fact she is known locally as Old Cilla, the Witch. Her cottage is just across the road from the house where I live. Just across the road and down a bit. So I'm very lucky 'cos I can go and see her every day. I know her best of all as Aunt Sizzie, she likes it when I call her that, says it's not at all stuck up and sounds a lot like the noise newts eyes make when they're dropped into a hot cauldron. Sizzie comes from when I was little and couldn’t pronounce Pricilla properly. The name stuck! Very often, when I go to see her she is making a spell or mixing a potion for a client; some of whom have been seeing her for years and years. Sometimes when I go to see her, she lets me taste what ever it is she's mixing, if it's not poisonous or anything, just so that I'll remember what it was like when I have to do it for myself. Of course not all of the mixtures are eaten or drunk, some have to be carried in a little bag, some have to be rubbed on the skin and some have to be pushed up “where the sun never shines” as aunt Sizzie says. One day Aunt Sizzie told me if I was everso good, she'd change me into a toad or a terrapin or something like that, for a laugh, to see if I liked it. She said it would all be part of my "Eddycation!" Last Wednesday was a good day for Aunt Sizzie, her new false teeth had come at last! She had waited ages for them but didn't have to pay a lot on account of being "retired" she said. Now at last all her spells would come out right 'cos she would be able to say all the words right again. She was outside by the water butt washing out some of those two pound jam jars that you can’t get anymore in a pail of clean dry rainwater when I went round to see her that morning. “Ah, there you are my gal!” she said. Straight away she got me cleaning the lids of those jars with a scrap of grey dishcloth which had seen better years with water from the butt in her chipped enamel washing up bowl. The tap on the water butt is always stiff and hard to turn on and off, this time I got it on alright but couldn't turn it off before it had overflowed the old enamel bowl. So my feet and legs and a lot of Aunt Sizzie's garden path were wet. In fact there was quite a puddle in that low part by the gate. Aunt Sizzie tut tutted and muttered things about Dad coming to sort that out. I hope she meant the tap! Just then we heard a voice call out from the road. “Oh Mrs. Bignall, I'm so glad you're at home!” I distinctly heard Aunt Sizzie say one of those rude words that I’m not supposed to know as she straightened up, wiped her hands and nose on her apron and turned to see who had the cheek to call on her at that time of the day. The two large ladies I’d seen earlier calling on poor Mrs Jones, standing at Aunt Sizzies front gate. I’m always told to close the gate behind me when I go in or out. Luckily this time I had remembered to do so. The larger of the two fumbled with the latch, pinching her thumb as she did so. Another odd job no doubt, for Dad to do. Putting that right. The gate squeaked open reluctantly, giving up the unequal struggle, and the Large Visitor walked into Aunt Sizzies garden closely followed by her shorter friend. She made her way carefully along the path, doing her best to avoid the mud and puddles. The shorter companion managed to be just as careful. “Mrs Jones tells me you're making some medicine for her”, the Large Visitor cried in Aunt Sizzie's direction. The word “medicine” seemed to come out very loud. “Don't you realise you're breaking the law, mixing things up when you're unqualified ?” the Large Visitor went on. “You could be put in prison for that, you know” Aunt Sizzie snorted, breathed in deeply and brought herself up to her full height. She is only a short lady I know, but sometimes she seems to be immensely tall. “Have you come here to threaten me again ?” enquired Aunt Sizzie quietly. “’cos if you have, you can bugger off right now. I’ve got better things to do than talk to the likes o’ you!” I remembered then who these two large ladies were, remembered them from some weeks before the very first time they had been round. Aunt Sizzie calls them Witlessnesses. They had come to tell her the good news. They told her that their saviour had risen again and that she ought to repent and rejoice! “Risen, Risen!, has he ?” She had said. “Risen ! Well he’s a damned lucky saviour then, isn’t he! Risen! Thass a lot more than my bread ha’ done!” I remembered her struggling with the dough a bit earlier that morning and thought then it was not going to work, even standing it for half an hour covered with a cloth, in front of the fire, would do no good. The yeast was about three months old. Aunt Sizzie snorted again, preparing herself for the coming battle. The larger of the two appeared not to have heard this remark, she went on zealously, “Do you know, Mrs. Bignall” she said , firmly holding a large Bible in front of herself, “people round here are saying you are a witch ?” “Ar!” replied Aunt Sizzie, “an’ thass not ‘alf of it, you should ‘a’ heard what the vicar said , and look what’s happened to him!” Mummy says the vicar has a Herne-ee-argh and is impudent. She says his wife would leave him if it wasn't for his sty- pen or something. I thought the vicar was supposed to look after sheep not pigs! The large Visitor still appeared not to have heard what Aunt Sizzie was saying. She went on preaching doggedly. “So we are here to help you give up your sinful, evil ways!” She waved the Bible in front of Auntie and cried out, “Repent and be saved! Renounce Satan and all his works and come to Jesus!” Well I don't know what Satan had done that morning to upset anybody. He was usually such a good cat, though I've heard Auntie calling him a little devil sometimes. “Would you like to meet Satan?” asked Aunt Sizzie innocently. “I'm sure he’s here, somewhere about!” She gave the Large visitor one of her grins. I knew what she was up to, I'd seen her give the milkman a similar grin when her account was overdue. “Come inside, won’t you?” she asked “Have some tea with me. The kettles on, ready for a brew!” “Never !” cried the Large Visitor and her mate in unison. “You'll never lure us into hell’s kitchen!” “Hell's kitchen indeed!” Snorted Auntie Sizzie “I paid good money for that kitchen I'll have you know!” I knew that was right. Auntie had paid a lot for a kitchen out of Homes and Gardens or was it Ideal Homes? The man who made it was called Littlemole, something like that, I remember her saying so. Only the expensive kitchen had been fitted by my dad in our house and Auntie had got hold of the remains of the old one out of the builders skip. Why on earth had she paid for us to have a new fitted kitchen? Maybe it was to do with Mum and Dad being together for so long, I don't know. Anyway, Auntie hauled the poor worn out cupboards out from under all the other rubbish the builders had made when they knocked the kitchen wall through. She’d told one of the builders, the blonde one, she’d pay him to fit them in her own house but he took one look at them, lying in her front garden covered in brick dust and said politely, “No” So in the end poor old Dad had to fit them! He thought he'd seen the last of them, after staring at them for the last I don't know how many years in his own kitchen. In particular, Auntie had wanted the sink unit, there was no water indoors in her cottage and she thought if she had the cupboard and the enamel top someone could be persuaded to plumb it in. Fortunately for Dad, who would have got the job, and unfortunately for Auntie the whole thing fell to bits as soon as it was unscrewed from the wall. So here she was, washing up outside the same as she'd done for the last fifty odd years. The two visitors fidgeted about for a moment as if uncertain what to do. Clearly, they were not convinced that their own God was powerful enough to protect them from so obviously evil a woman. The smaller of the two Visitors seemed ready to go. At that moment Satan, tail erect strolled round the corner. By the look of him he'd been up to no good, another neighbouring she-cat in the family way, another piece of stolen brisket eaten. “Satan! There you are, you little devil!” cried Auntie Sizzie, “have you come home for your dinner?” Ignoring her completely the cat stalked to the door of the cottage and yowled loudly his demand to be let in. I know I shouldn’t tell anyone this but there's a trick to opening Aunt Sizzie’s front door. The iron handle which you pull on to shut it is no use at all to get in 'cos the lever that goes through to lift the latch inside is missing, a deliberate bit of self sabotage on Aunt Sizzie's part. Instead there's a hole, just big enough for a slim finger to slip in and lift up the latch, easing the door at the same time. Well I suppose other people know about it; it's a common thing in country places where the Norfolk latch prevails. Helps to stop horses and other clever animals opening the door and letting themselves out. Aunt Sizzie was crafty and always managed to get people to look at something else if she had to open the door when they were around and might see how she did it. With a hearty shove, Aunt Sizzie opened the door, it's rusty hinges protesting squeakily, on purpose. Dad had hung the door with both hinges upside down, as Sizzie had requested in order for it to do that. Exactly on cue, cobwebs and soot cascaded down across the opening. Satan stalked inside haughtily and disappeared into the darkness. Aunt Sizzie turned dramatically, framed in the doorway and said quietly to the watching women, “Don't you come round here spouting that silly religion stuff. You don't have a clue what you're talking about!” “We are here to do the Lord's work, to save you from your sins!” cried the larger of the two, still carefully holding the Bible in front of herself. Her companion, a smaller lady with an uncertain, shifty sort of air, stood carefully behind her for protection and nodded wisely at these words. “It is written in the Bible that you should not suffer a Witch to live!” continued the Large one. “But we say if you give up your wicked ways and pray with us you may yet be saved! “Yes!” Aunt Sizzie replied, “And that also says that the Devil may quote the scriptures for his own use!” “Repent!” cried the Large Visitor, firmly holding the Book before her. “Repent now! Before it’s too late!” “Balderdash, Rammel and Squitt!” snorted Auntie Sizzie. She took a step towards the woman, who moved hastily backwards towards the gate. Somewhere inside the cottage a wheezy clock chimed a long drawn out twelve. Satan began his ear-splitting wailing. Sizzie and I both knew he always did this at midnight, whenever that chimed but of course the un-nerved Visitors didn’t! “Come in and have some tea, and we'll talk it over” said a crafty Aunt Sizzie, but the Visitors fell over each other in their haste to refuse. The smaller one was struggling with the gate by now, which for some reason declined to open. They did have a bit of trouble opening it, I remembered, when they came in, only a few, was it only a few........moments ago? As I watched the proceedings with growing amusement I saw a bramble runner, complete with leaves, thorns and little flowers, grow steadily across the top of the gate. It reached the other side in less than a minute, brushing against the woman's hand when it got near to the latch. Before her unbelieving eyes could take it in, hooked thorns, three quarters of an inch along or more, reared sharply up towards her. Sizzie cackled and indoors Satan began purring with enough volume to set saucepans rattling up on the pantry shelves. I stood quietly watching and learning, wondering what Aunt Sizzie would do next. Then the Visitor with the Bible stepped towards Sizzie again. Well perhaps the gate did push her a little bit. She glared at Sizzie while still holding the Book protectively in front of herself. “If you don't let us out of here this minute, I shall call the police” she shouted. The other Visitor gaining courage from this, turned in an attempt to support her companion but found to her horror she could no longer get away from the gate because the bramble runner had completely encircled her arm. Letting out a short scream she tried to tear herself free but succeeded only in tearing the material of her coat. If anything, the bramble grew longer and more thorny as she struggled. “Help! Help!” the Large Visitor shouted “Help! Police! Help! Let us out!” “Do shut up!” snorted Aunt Sizzie. “Who do you think can hear you out here, there's no-one about!” “Help! Help!” the woman loudly continued “Help! Police! Somebody, let us out!” As she shouted, her companion tried to tear herself from the gate once more. Soon the sleeve and a large part of the front had gone from her coat but still the blackberry branch continued to grow around her. There was something close to terror on her face now; all thoughts of a spiritual salvation had fled from her mind. Her intention now was for a physical one. “Help me!” was all she managed to say hoarsely to her Bible-armed companion before Aunt Sizzie's next little trick struck both women both deaf and dumb. I’d seen her do this once before, when she got involved in a dispute about a small piece of lamb. The butcher said he had promised it to someone else, one of his "regular customers" was what he had said. He ought to have known better than to cross Auntie Sizzie when she has specially gone out to get Satan his tea. The poor man had to shut up shop for the rest of the day. He was utterly unable to speak! Aunt Sizzie leaned over the counter and seized the man by his shirt collar saying, “Look here my man, I want a piece of meat!” It came to one and nine when she dropped it on his scales. She left the man speechless with two bob and never went back for her change. Now here she was using the same thing again, she told me later it was a sort of hypnotism, but don’t tell anyone else about it. Anyway, the Large Visitor carefully laid her Bible by the lavender bush and taking hold of her smaller, terrified companion's coat furiously began to tug. Amazed, I watched the remaining arm come away from the coat, and not only that but a long ragged piece of her blouse sleeve came with it. By this time a good deal of pink flesh was showing and the blackberry branch was reaching into the pockets of the coat. The poor Christian was rapidly turning into an example of one of those “Green Man” she’d read so much about. There was a slow ripping noise and a handkerchief and a packet of cigarettes fell out of a long tear that used to be a pocket. The woman was overcome by terror now. Almost fainting with fear and unable to do or say anything about it. Aunt Sizzie had a look on her face of demonical glee. She knew she had got the better of these two and was rightly very pleased to have done so. “Come on!” she said to me “We’ll have that cuppa now. Then we’ll get on an’ make that soap and a few candles perhaps. There’s a good bit o’ fat on them two that will help us no end……”! I followed Aunt Sizzie indoors, being very careful to close the door behind me. After all I didn’t want Satan to get out again and wreak even more havoc…… © V.J.S 2008.

Paraquat

2008-02-01T20:37:00.000Z

used to be a defoliant used in Vietnam by the U.S and by gardeners everywhere else to keep the weeds down.

Paranoid??

2008-01-23T13:47:00.000Z

Well maybe! I don't know what you'd call it, but my phone rings at 2 am and there is no-one there, I get someone else's mail regularly and now, this morning I am getting junk mail offering me viagra! I ask you - is viagra any good for a sixty one years old woman who is massively oversexed anyway? Shall I put a spy camera on my wall, change my phone number, always look behind me when I walking down the street, and why are you staring at me like that anyway?

180. Mabel, oh Mabel

2008-01-14T08:27:00.000Z

180 (Mabel, oh Mabel!) Mabel leered at me sexily. “Vicky! Where have you been?” she said. Hey, her breasts bobbled enticingly and her smell grabbed my nose firmly, dragging my head towards her crotch before I had the chance to answer. She held me there so easily while I tried to swim, foundered and almost drowned in the nectar of her. Hades how, oh how I was captivated! By all the stars how I desired her. It was as if we’d known each other for a thousand years so familiarly did we slip together. But the thousand years had neither diminished our hunger nor dulled the edge of our appetite for each other. She might have drowned or suffocated me them and I would have been happy. In turn I could have easily burrowed my way headfirst inside her and so killed her that way. Yes we smashed together massively, breasts and bellies meeting like a thunderclap, yes we writhed and snatched and grabbed at each other. There was no beginning to our lovemaking, if that was what it was. An observer, knowing nothing of our predilections might have assumed we partook of some kind of violent rite. But you know we’d told each other several times, many times before that occasion, of our wishes, so now, this time, at our first opportunity, recalling those wishes, neither of us held any punches. And yes, oh yes! It was more like a brawl than any known form of normal lovemaking. Ha! Normal! What is that to me? Nothing in my life had even been normal, whatever normal was. Nothing I knew about was normal, nor had ever been. Least of all my lovemaking! Abnormal and unusual was my normal, subnormal too sometimes, and the more unusual the more normal it seemed to me. It’d never hurt anyone else or caused anyone distress, affecting most only superficially and the majority not at all. What they didn’t know wouldn’t keep them awake at night, wouldn’t plunge their wives or their husbands into deep troughs of despondency or extinguish was small spark of desire they might have left. My only worry, if worry it was, concern more likely, was how I was to introduce Mabel to the rest of my crew. Already I’d left it too late I feared. Somehow, I considered vaguely, my mind not really on anything other than what was staring me right in the face, I’d take her prisoner, capture her, tie her up, having discovered her, a hiding, lurking stowaway. Futile! Pointless! I told myself. They’d know, see through the ruse, because all of them knew me. Let one of them find her then. That was my next idea and again I knew they’d see through even that idea though because, if she was on board then I would know about it. Ultimately, the fact that she was able to stow away at all was my doing, either directly or indirectly. Oh Sweethearts! Do you know how hard, how hard the press of gemstone jewellery against your forehead can be? Dare you test the hardness of diamond against your skull, the sharpness of sapphire alongside your cheek. My tongue, my mouth, nay, I’ll say my whole face ached from my bejewelled encounter with her, only the pearls I swear being of a similar hardness to my teeth. Oh Sweethearts! ‘Tis thrilling in the extreme to relate. She wanted it as rough, no rougher than the rough she was giving me. There is an edge, you know, which you can walk along, a sharp edge, so sharp, with an abyss immeasurable on either side of it. An edge you can dance along, wild with abandon and the ecstasy of a long drawn out orgasm, an edge so sharp that it might, with the slightest of slips, cut a careless walker in two without the slightest hesitation. Yes I am writing rubbish again. I know that. Overindulging myself and my keyboard. In a moment I shall wheel out words not seen for a millennium, phrases unused since the first so called conquest of space. And I could not have cared less then, who saw us, heard us found us. We came together rowdily and copiously, like the bursting of some huge and hideous hydraulic system, spurting and gushing and Mabel oh Mabel how I hurt myself inside! She is one of those fortunate, or perhaps unfortunate women with the ability to spurt jets of fluid from her vagina when she comes. Three or four times in a row too, which does make quite a mess, I can tell you. I’ve never been able to work out whether or not the fluid is actually pee, for sure it does not taste like it. What I do know is the after effects often leave Mabel momentarily incapable of doing anything other than writhing uncontrollably. So I cuddled her and reassured her, kissed he neck and her breasts, told her how wonderful she was and waited until she was calm enough for my fingers to slip inside her again. Then the pattern repeated again and again each result becoming noisier and wetter than the previous until I worried, yes I worried, that with all her contortions she might actually damage herself. Either that of flood my entire cabin out. As it was she managed to spray not only all the bedding but the floor, the ceiling and all four walls. And in the end of course I didn’t care one way or another who found us, heard us, joined us or anything else. None of the crew would actually venture into my cabin without good reason anyway, not unless I invited them or perhaps if they surmised I was in some kind of danger, so I simply abandoned myself to the fates. Oh yes! It might be the cowards way out, I’ll admit, but you know, sometimes……… ************* Funny thing is you know, Astie knew about Mabel all the time and had his/her eye on her too, I have no doubt, so by the time I did steel myself to tell everyone, a day and a half later when I’d recovered, imagine my surprise when they laughed at me uproariously. I suppose I should have been shocked or upset but in the end I found it easier to laugh than to take what I had once considered an important matter of anything more than of passing interest. Such is life in good old Atcheon now. Anything goes and nobody gives a damn about anything! In the back of all our minds lay the one conviction, I think: That with the destruction of the Medusa all out troubles with the Salversun family had passed. Of course no-one could prove or disprove our supposition that the entire family had been aboard her, but we liked to think that was the case……as it turned out later, much later in fact, we were to learn that it was indeed so.

Parade?

2008-01-03T06:01:00.000Z

There used to be a men's magazine by the same name. Famous for its centrefold which invariably showed bare breasts but little else. I think it died in the early 70's when other, more daring mags began showing picturess of models with real pubic hair. So I parade before the wardrobe mirror and in the light of the bedside lamp it is not a pretty sight! The beds empty on that side. Cool and empty and lacking a man. My side is stil warm when I get back in with my first, very early cup of coffee and the tiny toy I bought myself for Christmas. Believe it or not I haven't tried it out yet.........

179. Surveying the wreck.

2008-01-02T07:53:00.000Z

179 (Surveying the Wreck) Even as distracted as I was Sweethearts, I could see the Medusa was in a frightful state! A haze of debris trailed in her wake, shattered and torn, vacuum exploded nameless things, shards of this and that now forever dead. And as we turned I zoomed the viewers lenses until, with a shiver of horror I realised I could see right inside her. Oh she was a wreck and no mistake, a drifting junkyard showing no signs of life. At least not according to our probes and sensors anyway. Aft, the glare of her burning engines shone dazzlingly. That, I suspected, was what our proximity detectors had originally homed in on for not a single lamp glowed anywhere else on the craft. Both men exhausted themselves too soon. I mean, hell five minutes each? That’s less than two minutes each for the three of us. Like I said, I reckon we’ll have to get ourselves another man. I’ll admit they were as obviously as turned on as we were and yes, didn’t Astie say the alarms had interrupted them in bed? Even so! I was by no means satisfied and was damned sure neither Mo nor else were either. But that was it! Limp and wet and slippery, both of them. Oh it was maddening! Maddening, to put it simply. So we cuddled each other, the three of us, more or less automatically and without speaking while the men, sighing sleepily half heartedly hailed the Medusa on several emergency frequencies……and received no response whatsoever. They dithered then, wanting to rest, wanting to recuperate, to damn the wreck, forget it and in time have the three of us again. “Dead!” Astie exclaimed, turning from the communicator. “She’s as dead and a dumbbell along with everyone on her……” “Looks like it!” Miny agreed. For a moment I thought his thing was reviving, certainly it did not seem quite as flaccid as it had been. Then Astie, staring at a smaller screen cried out that he could see someone waving from a little platform on one side of the wreck. Well the little platform turned out to be part of a companionway between decks, or what was left of it and them, on what had once been a service bay inside the ship. Astie zoomed the main scanner to maximum and found only the torn remains of an empty EVA suit flapping there. That was that really. We turned our attention back to ourselves after that, Miny, reviving enough to look after Mo, while both Else and I gave a downhearted Astie all our attentions. Well there was little we could do except record the fact that we’d found the ship. I was disinclined to try to board her even though we had our own EVA suits. So we set the cameras to auto and let them get on with the task, one of us speaking the prerequisite commentary only when prompted…… “S.S.Atcheon, nineteen days ship’s time out of Ross765, position eighty six, forty nine, thirty three……” that sort of thing you know. Just so there’d be no mistakes and no misunderstanding if it ever came down to it, while, deep down I was beginning to wonder how such a thing could happen. Medusa had been about three times the size of Atcheon, and probably ten times as powerful. Her protective screens should have provided her with an impenetrable barrier all round. So what had gone wrong? Obviously something had but what we would probably never know. Maybe she suffered a breakdown, I mused. I hazarded further guesses, ranging from mutiny on board to disease, madness and explosion. Strangely, some of the hull damage did look as if it had happened from the inside out. “Maybe they had some of that explosive stuff like we found!” Miny suggested. We all stared at him thoughtfully. “Who knows!” I replied aloud. It was a possibility, after all. Visage2 sounded a reminder chime just then. I keep to our schedule we had seven minutes left before we must break away. I nodded, thinking of Mabel again suddenly. Poor Mabel still hiding in my cabin! No, I would not over-ride Visage2’s prompting, I’d agree to make the break, unmatch and turn away. And at seven minutes, point two nine seconds we did exactly that, the black triangular shape of Medusa falling away on our screens rapidly. Sadness filled me, I must admit. I’m sure the incident affected the other too. After all, it is so easy to put yourself in those poor peoples place, imagine what the end for them and their ship might have been. I wanted to cry actually but didn’t want my crew to see me do it. So as Medusa’s shape shrank back to a flash of white light in the far distance, I took my leave of them again. Astie nodded thoughtfully, picking up on my thoughts in the same way as I am certain the others were doing. With a little shrug of nonchalance which I did not feel, I went, slowly and sadly, back to my cabin the sight of the wrecked Medusa still vivid in my minds eye. Had the Salversuns themselves been aboard her, I wondered, and if so had…..were……No it was futile to speculate. Even had anyone survived the initial impacts, and there had been several by the look of things, it was unlikely they would have lasted more than a few hours, even in a spacesuit, without food or water, in the harshness of space. Even had…… No! Stop! Hades, I needed my bed! Closing the cabin door distractedly I stepped towards the bed. Sleep was not far away now. Not far at all…… except something was different, someone else was in my bed. Some several moments elapsed before, in the pale pink safelights I saw a naked Mabel MacAllister sitting in the middle of my best floral patterned quilt.

Paratrooper? Well yes I could do with one of them.

2008-01-02T07:40:00.000Z

He'd gone by seven thirty, coffee half drunk, breakfast bowl still on the table. I can smell his exhaust and his sweat in the bed but what good are odours when there is no cock?

Reprise (Variations on a theme. 1.)

2007-12-20T16:41:00.000Z

REPRISE. Variations on a theme……(1) I remember a party I went to in Bedford several years ago. The party was actually held in the university’s student union building, which was really an ex Royal Flying Corps airship hangar, or part of, stolen one rag week from the nearby Cardington airfield. It was a vast, noisy and rather draughty place, as you can imagine which still stank of fabric dope, long ago leaked away lubricants and aviation spirit. We’d shuttled in from Spaceport Four in the north of the country with permission to land at Cardington airfield itself where we could use the facilities within the main airship hangar to store our shuttlecraft. Security was tight, I am pleased to say, and the ground crew who took charge of our craft courteous and very efficient. Perhaps the presence of two shapely women in tight flying suits had something to do with it, I don’t now. Suffice to say our machine was wheeled away to a secure area as soon as we’d handed it over to them. Efficiency! That’s what I like to see! They would have arranged transport for us too but it appeared the uni. had done that already. A foreign looking gentleman in a tired looking Mercedes car who waited patiently while we collected our bags and baggages and changed from flying shoes into unsensible stillies. The rest, our flying suits and so on, would have to wait until we got to somewhere we could change easily, though that, in my case, proved ultimately unnecessary. Personally I thought I looked alright as I was anyway. Sexy, is what I meant because I felt it. Well it was springtime in England, on Sol3’s northern hemisphere, I was in the company of a beautiful woman – my pilot and I had been invited to be guest of honour at a lavish party. So I reckoned I’d every right to feel that way. I looked around at the vast building in front of me and the slightly smaller version standing next to it. Vast was probably the word I’d use to describe them. Oh yes they were once the largest single story buildings in the world, remaining so until the vertical assembly building at Cape Canaveral came along to spoil things by being rather taller. These buildings were big lengthwise because airships were essentially gas filled horizontal tubes whereas the later mid twentieth century so called space rockets were fuel filled vertical tubes. You know, I remember them airships, them airships, you know. Flying about all over the place as if they owned it, crashing into hills and trees and catching fire. Our most infamous of them all, called the R101 was built in the vast shed our shuttle was now hangared in. Designed by a team of bumpkins and self promoting idiots and paid for by the government, all seven hundred and seventy seven feet of her, crashed and burned in a field at Beauvaise in France on its very first commercial flight while the private venture, designed by Barnes Wallis of Bouncing Bomb fame and Nevil Shute Norway of Airspeed Industries and A Town Like Alice fame and built as a private venture in competition to the government sponsored, one was an outstanding success. Well as we were to find out later, the spite of the government of the day forced its eventual demise, regardless of its profitability and obvious success. I believe the poor old thing was ultimately broken up for scrap. So here I was, randy as hell from the flight (Flying in small intimate shuttlecraft always does that to me) clambering into this taxi with indecent haste and a good deal of care, in order not to split the arse out of my somewhat tight flying suit. My escort George – the pilot of the shuttlecraft (a lady of impeccable taste and breeding, I must add) wore much the same kind of flying suit as me, except of course hers bore the crossed eagle feathers symbol of the Elite Aviation Corps. The venue was not far away from the airfield and we were there in no time at all, the battered Merc slithering through the complications of Bedford’s one way system effortlessly. But if I’d hoped, as I had, to get into the party anonymously, then my hopes were dashed the moment our taxi turned into the road outside the student union building. From the noise coming from inside it was obvious that the party was already in full swing and from the people gathered outside it was clear that some sort of eager reception committee awaited me. My companion grinned as the taxi slowed and hordes or more men and women in various stages of undress surged towards it. My kind of party, by all accounts and, if her look of excited anticipation was anything to go by, it was Georges as well. And to my surprise, judging by the posters and placards some of the students were holding up I seemed to be famous for some reason. Dammit all, I can’t think why. The first woman to fuck her way right round the universe perhaps, or maybe the first earthborn woman to give birth to twins in freefall. Whatever. From the way the throng surged and sang I was sure I would soon find out! Oh yes there was a blonde girl there, tall, long haired, quite naked and very beautiful, and whoops, if she didn’t have a framed photograph of me on a three foot by two foot poster. A picture of me grinning inanely from inside a frighteningly obsolete space suit. “Well the hell did they find that?” I asked no-one in particular. George grunted something about the university archives, which I did not believe for a single minute. The blonde girl moved forwards as the taxi came to a halt and as the crowd surged towards it she became trapped bodily, breast squashedly, against the window. “We may have some trouble getting out!” George suggested “What with all then out there wanting to get in here with you!” Oh yes. Being famous has its disadvantages, I can assure you. Why there are times when you can’t even go for a piss without somebody to get a sample so that they can copy its colour, taste or smell. You can almost see the adverts now, can’t you: “Pure two hundred percent orange juice. As voided by Victoria Seago” And yes! They were calling out Vicky! Vicky!! in a wild sort of chant, a mantra almost. The blonde haired girl appeared to be either getting squeezed to death or multiply orgasming. As both exercises require both ones mouth and ones vagina to be wide open at the same time it was difficult to tell. Worse, the throng were by now blocking our way out, so it was either drive over them or open the bloody doors and let us both get out. I tell you, they carried us shoulder high into that hall when we did. Strangely many of the cheering masses seemed to be quite unsure which of us was which, one faction carrying George off in one direction whilst a different bunch carried me off in another. Not to be outdone a third, and rather more inebriated bunch tore open the front door of the car and, after a good deal of shouting and swearing, pulled out and threw up into the air, our erstwhile unfortunate driver. Poor sod! Bellowing his innocence he was stroked and tickled, petted and stripped, all in the twenty seconds or so it took his bearers to extract him from his car and carry him through the stage doors of the hall. Then, stark naked and embarrassingly erect he found himself thrust into the clutches of a burly and fearsomely armour plated security man. “That’s not Vicky!” someone said. The general consensus was that somehow I’d substituted the poor man while nobody was looking in order to effect an escape. Nothing but nothing Sweethearts, could have further from the truth! (to be continued)

Parachute.

2007-12-19T05:59:00.000Z

No I think umbrella. Whichever, I think I must have left it somewhere the other day beause now I can't find the damn thing. I need it to open the door to the garage you see............. I am becoming as absent minded as a

178. The Wreck.

2007-12-17T18:15:00.000Z

178. (The Wreck) The alarms shut themselves off automatically after a minute, leaving my ears ringing painfully. For some reason they both sounded like proximity detectors to me, though what the hell we be that close to at two times and a bit light speed made my skin crawl to think. A thought chilled me then, and I’ll tell you straight. I thought that in disabling the IFF we might have made ourselves invisible to anything coming the other way. I mean by that not just other craft but absolutely anything, though I could not, for the life of me, imagine how such a thing might happen. Well all the viewers were on when I got to the flight deck and none of them showed anything more than the utter blackness of faster than Lightspeed space. Well how could they? If lightwaves couldn’t keep up with us there’d be nothing to see. Except that there was. As suddenly and as unexpectedly as that. A flash of silver down at the extreme edge of the port bow screen. Astie saw it a fraction of a second before I did, I think. I heard his grunt of surprise anyway. “How can that happen?” he asked no-one in particular, and though I had some ideas, I did not feel like inflicting them upon him. No it wasn’t a beacon and we were not picking up radio waves but real shining, visible light. For a moment I had to check through the data that Visage2, at Mo’s request, was giving me. For a moment, after I’d read through it, I had to read through it again. If it was within the visible light spectrum then it had to travelling at much the same speed as we were, which was, according to the dials I peered at, more than twice the speed of light…… So! Problem! Puzzle! What the hell was it? “Can you turn those bloody things off now?” I yelled, as both two-tone and bell started up again. I think Else had a hand in it then. Well you know she is of a technical bent. Whatever! Neither sounded again and the flight deck became strangely silent and we hunched around the screen a stared at that light. What if it is alien and hostile, I wondered to myself. Oh what if it is nothing more than a wandering light of some kind……? Knowing very little about the mechanics of neither I continued to follow the light until it began to take shape. “What if it is alien and hostile?” Miny enquired. Astie laughed dryly “Then let the shooting begin!” he said. Well all but our full astern shields were in place, I knew. They had to be for Visage2 to run, so we were safe. The light grew, not in brightness so much as in size, and elongated until, before were realised what we were seeing we found ourselves staring at the angular shape of a matte black ship. There was something about it which, to our incredulous eyes, looked horribly familiar. “It’s the Medusa!” one of our number whispered. The Medusa, one of the Salversun Organisation’s very own ships, the same one which had met and docked with us on our way to Ross765. “How the hell has she found us?” I cried “when we are supposed to be running silent and invisible?” I glared angrily at the viewing screen……and in an instant saw exactly what it was that was flashing that bright white light at us. Medusa had sustained damage all down her port side and on her stern quarter where one of her engines now lay exposed and glowing brightly, futilely in dying despair. “She taken a hit!” both Astie and Miny said at once. Visage2 sang out to me then, breaking through my chain of thought and into the horror with which I gazed at the Medusa. Did I want to match attitudes and velocities, it asked me. Well you know, like it or not I had no real choice in the matter. I turned to the console, checked the readout and snapped closed the toggles which confirmed that I did. Atcheon drew herself closer then, turning on both X and Y axes at the same time, matching this and that, tumbling inexorably against a darkening background of stars. No I don’t know how she did it and I am not going to try to explain it. Just believe me when I tell you she did it! We turned in order to inspect the damage and to probe the wreck, for that is what it was, for any signs of life and from a hundred klicks away we recorded her visually. “More than one hit, I think!” I said aloud eventually. The extent of the damage was terrifying. Astie nodded, murmured something while the rest stayed silent. No-one wanted to think about what might have happen to the occupants of the stricken spaceship. Oh yes, it might have been us, could have been Atcheon, so easily. No-one wants to think about it, everyone hopes it will never happen or that the end will be instantaneous if it does. What puzzled me was why Medusa had not simply disintegrated. A strike, any strike, at plus light speeds, or so I’ve always thought, meant all and everything would be instantly vaporised. Sweethearts I don’t mind telling you I had to look away for a minute. In truth I identified with the situation too much. How easily might it have been Atcheon instead of Medusa, I wondered. How easily……And Sweethearts, both Astie and Miny were sporting huge erections, I noticed suddenly. Some dim recollection informed me that being close to death did that to a man. Hell yes, there is more to it than that, I know. More to it than simple psychology but at that precise moment I didn’t want to go into it. Both were close enough so I reached out an held them, a fraction of a second before both Mo and Else tried to do the same. “What was she doing without her shields in place?” Astie writhed gently. I shook my head. “Fuck knows!” I said squeezing him. “But if I know anything about the Salversuns whatever it was probably meant misfortune for someone…...” Astie wriggled, reached for the nearest breast, which happened to be Else’s, and began to fiddle with it. In no time at all fingers and thumbs were dodging everywhere. This is mad, I said to myself. Yes, I was turned on by the sight of the wreck. I’ll admit that now. Turned on terrifically by the sight of all that destruction……and by the thought, no the sneaking suspicion that the Salversuns themselves might have been in there. Well alright I’d come to the bridge already somewhat aroused by my interrupted dream about Mabel MacAllister and the sight of the Medusa had added to that. Now I wanted something that only two very turned on men could give me, with the assistance of two exceptionally randy girls too, of course! No, we didn’t break too many things. Nothing important anyway. One of the flightdeck chairs mostly, and that had always been ricketty. Morbidly fascinated I stared at the viewer as the remains of the Medusa slid slowly into our sight. Incredibly I realised I was discovering something new. Death and destruction were an aphrodisiac to me! Not only that but if we were to continue in this way for very much longer, when we got to Appleby we’d have to find ourselves an additional man…… And not only that Sweethearts, but I have to ask you, what is it about men and women that makes them taste so sweet?

2007-12-14T06:58:00.000Z

2007-12-14T06:27:00.000Z

paragraphs?

2007-12-14T06:08:00.000Z

Sorry, I seem to have forgotten how to make it put the paragraphs in when I cut and paste it to post. They're there when I paste from Word into the post box but disapear when I click 'publish post' then 'view blog'.......

Mabel gets to me. II.

2007-12-14T06:00:00.000Z

177. (Mabel gets to me. II) So I stumped off and left them to it. Told them I’d be back with them for breakfast, whenever that was, and not before. That was that. They looked at each other, not sure if the paint and tinfoil would cause their downfall, not really understanding what it was all about. That’s not quite true. Astie, I am sure, did. Only he had trouble explaining it to everyone else. My cabin was in darkness except for one pale safelight, silent except for the inescapable hum and slight vibrations which indicated all was well with Atcheon without the need to peer at gauges or readouts. It smelled of something though. A sort of what……familiar, unfamilarity. No! Anticipation! That’s what it was. The potent, urgent pungency of Mabel MacAllister’s Min. She’d remained hidden obviously, not even daring to emerge from her hiding place when she heard me come in. That was understandable; I’d warned her to stay hidden until I said it was alright to come out. Ha! I ought to have known she’d be asleep anyway, I am sure I would have been under those circumstances. And the smell, well that was partly what had put her to sleep anyway, or at least encouraged her to slip with ease into comfort. So I made no attempt to call out to her, made as little noise as possible in fact, slipping out of my coverall and into my old familiar bed in one, or so it seemed, easy movement. The pale safelight stayed on, well I am used to that, and the bed neither creaked nor squeaked as I relaxed deeper into it. Mixed feeling, yes! One the one hand I’d sort of expected to find her already in my bed when I opened the door and other the other, for some reason I was glad she wasn’t. Don’t ask me why, I cannot tell you, can’t even begin to tell you about the ways I feel. Mabel, in the short time I’d known her, had somehow turned a good deal of my world upside down. In some ways I suppose I was a bit wary, afraid even, of becoming too emotional, in some ways on my guard in case she suddenly, just as Else had done, became more of a worry and a liability than a lover. So I thought about her as I lay there, conjuring pictures of her body and the patterns of beads plaited into her hair and getting that little sick, empty feeling in my stomach. The transition between daydreaming and asleep dreaming is so tenuous to me that sometimes I find it very difficult to recognise which of the many and various states I am in. Mabel transmogrified from a creature of sad, gloomy lamplight, her office self I suppose, to an entity composed almost entirely of happiness and warm glowing light. Gold glitter gleamed on her skin when she turned, stepping out of a circle of sunlight, her arms thrust out in welcome towards me. Sweat glistened on her breasts and belly, rare jewels glistened in her plaited hair. “How could you wait?” she asked silently. “How could you wait so long? Where do you find such patience?” “Age has gifted me” I told her, smiling, though I know not from where I had got that. Hell oh hell I wanted her, wanted her! And as we crashed together I knew how much she wanted me. Mmmm foreplay is okay, if that is indeed the right word for it but I wanted to shove my fingers inside her straight away, my tongue down her throat without hesitation and for her to do likewise to me. Hey! Foreplay is alright for others, they need time to decide what to do anyway. And how to do it too, in all probability. (Badly usually!) “How could you wait?” she writhed. Hell oh hell O Hell how I wanted her! And I was still not sure whether or not I was dreaming by the time I woke up again. Except that Astie was there, in my cabin with Mo by my side. “Vickee!” Mo was saying shrilly “We think there has been a problem with the jump……!” Exactly what I wanted to hear, you can imagine, when I was feeling so randy. Yes Sweethearts, exactly what I wanted to hear. I realised Mabel must still be in hiding, for if she was not then where the hell would she be? “Some alarm went off!” Astie told me. “It was both a two-tone and a bell……” “And some red lights came on!” Mo hastened to assure me. I nodded, thinking the worst, leaping to all, nearly all, the wrong conclusions. “How soon after Visage2 took over?” I asked. They looked at each other quizzically, then Astie nodded, “Perhaps an hour or so” I knew then the alarms were probably nothing to do with the jump itself, for any discrepancy then and Visage2 would not have taken over. “Any change in the cabin lights when the alarms sounded……?” I began to ask when, at that exact moment they began their discordant warning sounds again. “Did they flicker or dim, I mean?” I shouted through the din. Astie, poor Astie, shook his head. “Just the audibles!” he told me. “They were what got us all out of bed……” Now they were both getting me out of bed in turn. Both of them, with something close to terror on their faces. “Vickee?” Mo asked quietly “Are we going to crash?”

176. Mabel gets to me.

2007-12-11T16:54:00.000Z

176. (Mabel gets to me) I know I promised not to ramble, yet here I am doing it again. The trouble always is something like not only is there a lot more to see than can actually be seen and a lot, much more, too much, to do, than can ever be done, unless you are perfectly singleminded, which I am not, then it becomes, as the days pass, harder and harder to stick to one single line of narrative or enquiry. Mabel, Mabe, had begun to exercise me in exactly the same way as Miny, Mo and Astie had all done in their turn. And to a certain extent as Else had also done, though with her things were subtly different. I’d pushed my boat out with Mabe, shoved it boldly into midstream, without first testing both the waters for temperature and current flow and the strength or otherwise of my oars and my ability to pull them. Now my boat span and made me dizzy, bobbed and made me queasy, rolled and pitched and made me if not seasick then surely something which came very close to it. Mastless and rudderless it lurched, out of control and at the mercy of everything which was alien to me. And I remembered a time when, leaving home with an old schoolfriend for a summers hitch-hike on Sol3’s European continent I’d fallen foul of some, what you might call not at all like me, ideas and misunderstandings. You know you used to be able to get the train ferry from Harwich to the Hook of Holland, as it was called then. The train, one of them, left Ipswich station on a Friday afternoon and got you into Holland in time for the shops to open on Saturday morning. Three coaches, as I recall, each crammed with choice specimens of English humanity, many bound for the seamier parts of Amsterdam. Well we’d both heard of Brown Bars and what we would most likely see if we visited the Red Light district. We’d even done it once, for a laugh, and returned much later and much enlightened. So now, returning for a second time, as we listened to the naivety of some of our passengers we, I, began to feel rather superior. They were corridor carriages if I remember rightly, with an angled connecting door at either end and a loo fitted into an unbelievably small space on one side. Yes we’d had a drink or two, nothing excessive and no, I was nowhere near anything like being drunk. There is an element of dare in alcohol though, isn’t there? A percentage of something more than brewed malt and hops. Thirty percent, perhaps, of randy, showoff boyfriend who nags and cajoles and aggravates you into doing things you’d probably have done anyway, except that you’d have done it in your own time. I’d probably had two or three times the number of men in our carriage by that time in my life, mostly without even remembering them. (Not though all at the same time of course) What was I? Sixteen and a bit and very sexy, even if I do say so myself. At the start of the swinging sixties you could get away with nearly anything. Even stripping off in a railway carriage full of strangers. Well there were a couple of other females there to start with but they kind of faded away as more blokes pushed their way in from elsewhere. Were they all going to Amsterdam’s red light district I wondered. By the way they looked at me it certainly seemed so. I have to tell you this Sweethearts, have to relate the tale in this way so as to confess my sins and thereby be rid of them. Alas poor Cock Robin! He was sorely embarrassed when I did take my clothes off. Cock Robin, who’d dared me to do it all along. When I did though, what could he do? In front of all those watching he was not man enough to make love to me. Others did, two or three, but not poor Robin. He blushed and stammered, turned away and wilted down to nothing. I knew the power of nakedness of course, knew I had them in my grasp. All of them, no most of them at any rate. And of the three I persuaded to have me (is this me, me, me, telling you this?) only one had anything of any substance to give me. Of the three, only one! And that so brief and tenuous I barely felt it. God’s nipples! Men!! I might have taken on the whole carriage load there and then and in a matter or moments stripped and whipped them all into oblivion. I wanted to, wanted them, wanted someone more, something more, than a single, shy, shivering youth at least. I suppose it is true to say that naked women will compare each other’s bodies. That’s a natural enough urge and understandable because the female form is beautiful, regardless of it’s beauty. But get two men together naked and the first thing they will compare is the size of their pricks, and the larger one will win every time. How far down in the pecking order do you really want to be, one will mentally ask the other. Littledick you, you are well down there, well down below me…… Mabel! Mabe! Arrgghh! Unconditional love sat awkwardly with me, even knowing as I did that there was no jealous possessiveness entwined within it. I wanted her precious jewellery, her dewdrops and teardrops so tasty, desperately, but at the same time as I wanted her, wanted her, wanted her, I did so much, so much want to share her with all my other lovers and at the same time myself be shared. Was it Shaw who once said something along the lines of, if each of us has an apple and we all exchange apples, we still only have one apple each but if each of us has an idea to exchange with everyone else then each of us gains the sum of those ideas. Something like that anyway. Yes, I suppose both Mabe and I did want to both have our apples and eat them, because it wasn’t long before that is exactly what we did. And, I can tell you, they were delicious!

175. Invisible?

2007-12-10T06:15:00.000Z

175. (Invisible?) Astie has a way of holding the back of my head when I am sucking his cock which lets me know how far he wants me to take him. The male side of him loves, every now and then, simply to spurt his stuff all over my tits and at other times as far down my throat as he can get it so that I can’t taste it. This time he managed, without any difficulty whatsoever not only to cover most of my face and neck but, more delightfully, to utterly fill my open mouth. In the process he told me exactly what he thought of me. Sweethearts I was every kind of slut and whore he could think of, as well as being a randy cow and a bitch to boot. I got my hair pulled and my tits squeezed so hard I had to bite him in order for him to stop. I’d have loved to have a second and a third man enjoy me then as Astie’s cock was so wonderful and my cunt and arse ached to be used. Before we tied her up and caned her we had Else like this too, Astie told me, except that she was suspended between Miny and me. Hell I wanted it even more then, when he told me that. So I reached up for the female part of Astie and found her so running with moisture that two of my fingers slid inside immediately. He was telling me exactly what they’d done to Else between them, sparing no adjectives in his description of the way she liked to be used. She wanted to be had by four men at once, Astie said, kept asking us if we could arrange it, when she had nothing in her mouth that is…… so she is trying to outdo me, is she? That was what I thought. Four men eh? Well maybe something could be arranged when we got to Appleby. If I knew anything about it at all there would be a goodly supply of men only too eager to take us both on. Frontier planets were like that usually. Something to do with danger and the closeness of death I suppose.

I knew then that we should all have gone back to the little place on Ross765 that Mabel had taken Else and me to when we had the chance. The place infested with strange and terrible sexual accoutrements and several incredibly sexy boys and girls. Sadly all that was much too far away now. Astie grunted, shifted his weight, moved, a little further apart, both of his feet. He was close to coming now, I could tell, his cock smoothly rigid in my mouth, my fingers slippy, smooth inside her in turn. For a moment I thought he might actually climax with both parts at once, it had happened a couple of times before………

“How will we know if it works?” Miny asked me curiously. “There is no way we shall” I said “Not immediately anyway. Not until we come out of the jump at the other end and don’t get our IFF interrogated. I am hoping that when we make the jump our leaving signature won’t get past the paint and tinfoil……”

“Aaah!” Astie breathed “Lost in space! How exciting!”

He said it in such a deadpan voice that I wasn’t really sure if he was joking or not.

“Lost……!” Mo echoed. She looked at me in alarm. “Vickee……?”

“No!” I hastened to assure her “We won’t be lost at all. We simply won’t be telling anyone that we expect to leave our prescribed route, where we are going instead or when we are expected back! Visage will know where we are and that is all that matters. As for everyone else, well yes, I suppose it might well look like we are lost in space”

“Who knows where we are really headed?” Astie asked carefully. “I mean what co-ordinates did you file? Always supposing you filed any at all”

“You know as well as I do” I said “That no ship is allowed to lift without filing destination details”

Well that was true enough, at least. No ship was supposed to lift without posting those details. It was all to do with safety, they said. But only those who’d hardly never been there believed such a system to work, in all practicality. Besides, some planets had relaxed rules, others none. Many were too far away from anywhere else to make any difference. Space is frighteningly vast and unbelievably devoid of much more than lots of nothing with a few sparse specks or something here and there. Generally the nothing part outweighed the something part by a factor of about a quadzillion to one and that was where our safety lay. By the time we made the jump, in a few hours time by my watch, we would already be too far away from Ross765 for them to make contact with us without there being a considerable time lag. During Lightspeeds Plus electromagnetic contact with us would be impossible anyway. Radio waves would simply be too slow to catch up with us and even if they could, none would ever be powerful enough to penetrate our plasma shields. Then, when we came out of Lightspeed plus we would be radio visible again but with the rudimentary screen which Astie and I had made in place no IFF interrogator would be able to detect us. That was what I hoped anyway. We’d make the jump without sending out our goodbye, then reappear without saying hello. We’d be a stranger in town, a renegade. An alien, if you like. A quarter of a million miles or so outside the orbit of RossA33, yes, that was what I hoped anyway.

I explained this as best I could, seeing some alarm and some not understanding from little Mo and Else. So I attempted to explain in greater detail and failed miserably, succeeded only in making little Mo cry and Else go all withdrawn and sullen. And if Miny understood he did not say one way or the other. In the end I left it like that. The Visage systems were already running through the preliminaries and had got so far that it was theoretically impossible to stop them by that time. One cannot simply “pull the plug” because there are too many things connected to it. So I watched the screen with one eye and my crew with the other. Exactly what I expected them to do I wasn’t altogether certain, in fact when we did click over they did absolutely nothing. Except Miny grabbed hold of Mo and held her tightly while Astie did the same with Else. That was enough for me! I made out like I was checking things for a few moments, viewing the ambers the reds and the greens, if you like. Then I told them, in no uncertain terms, that I was off to bed now and did not want to be disturbed. I’d got the hots for Mabel’s body suddenly. The hots for someone who really ought not to be there. My stowaway Mabel MacAllister. At that moment she was as invisible to my crew as Atcheon was to all the spies and monitors wherever they might drift in all our far off distant Spaceways.

“If Visage2 does not cut in before the hour chimes then by all means wake me,” I told them with a smile. “Otherwise please let me sleep” I knew Visage2 wouldn’t let me down; it was programmed to do as it was told after all. All being well we’d make the jump to Lightspeed at about the same time as Mabe and I were really getting down to enjoying ourselves. And, because I was the one who’d programmed it, that was exactly what Visage2 did.

174 Lift and Leaving.

2007-11-30T12:22:00.000Z

174. (Lift and Leaving) Well Mabel slipped in under cover of darkness, let in by me while my crew were at tea. There was ample space for her in the locker under my bunk and plenty of blankets in there to keep her cushioned from the Gforces at lift. She’d brought a large bag with her, though what it contained I didn’t ask right then, only hoped she’d thought to bring identification papers of some kind.

The escape velocity for Ross765 is somewhere in the region of five miles per second, rather less than Sol3 and rather more than some other planets we’d landed on and the window was a good long one, or would have been if we had been going where I’d originally filed. But Samarkand Beta is a dump, they said, why on earth do you want to go there. Sand and cement for their bunkers, I told the controller, who didn’t believe me for one minute. He looked at me queerly but I didn’t care. So long as his paperwork was all alright that was really all that mattered. Nowhere on any of it did it mention any changes of course or destination.

And yes, Samarkand Beta is a dump, populated almost entirely by seismologists, vulcanologists and probably proctologists too, for all I know. Thing is, its a volcanic planet a little larger in diameter than Luna with no really safe landing ground anywhere. The book classified it as ”Experimental, level five” which meant your chances of being killed within two hundred days of arrival were about twenty to one, so while there was a market for al kinds of stuff there, sand and cement included, I for one did not feel like going there. The risk to my nerves was too great if nothing else! The controller knew this of course but said nothing, stamping all the parts and handing back to me the stubs I would need when I landed there, looking at me knowingly over the top of his glasses.

I won’t bore you with the countdown or the liftoff sequences. Suffice to say, for once in my life I managed to make them pretty much flawlessly. Apart from the fact that I’d forgotten to add the weight of Mabel Macallister and her luggage that is. But what is a couple of hundredweight anyway when you’re lifting with the power and the glory of several carefully harnessed suns.

We left orbit after only two and a half rotations, our velocity boosted dramatically by Ross’s slingshot effect. Two and a half rotations! They must have been pleased to see the back of us. Then, with Visage1 looking after things I called my crew together.

“My plan”, I told them carefully “once we leave orbit and get signed off, is for Atcheon to apparently disappear……”

Well I knew the IFF stayed silent until it was awoken by an interrogator. Passive until ordered, either by me or by some outside body, to squawk our identity. I knew too that both interrogator and the replying signal utilised the same little aerial, a foot long vhf stick located aft of the secondary airlock doors underneath a shallow plexiglass dome.

Isn’t it peculiar when you consider how many life changing inventions have come about by accident. Antigrav gels and nonslip metallic paints for instance. And of the latter we had, I knew, several large containers left from the decorating of the inside of the new section of hull.

So I got into one of those blasted EVA suits and allowed Astie to get into another, then we stepped into the airlock, clipped on safety lines, cycled through the purge and pump out to vacuum sequence and stepped out into space.

There is nothing to it once you get over the idea that you might fall. Nothing to it except the knowledge that if, for any reason, you get left behind, there is no way you will ever manage to catch up. So keep you safety line attached as well as, if they are fitted, the umbillicals for the communicator and the radio. I’d turned her before we suited up, rotated her along her fore and aft axis so that the airlock door was sunside. At sublight speeds in space there is very little indication of motion. Distant stars may appear stationary for days and days whilst any nearer one may move only enough to occlude some others. Oh you get some inkling of your insignificance then, in the vastness of it all. Even in the sparsest of star scattered spaces one can see, unaided and undistorted by any cloud or atmosphere, countless light years without even trying.

In weightless conditions painting with a brush is harder than it sounds too. Firstly the gloves on an EVA suit are cumbersome and clumsy and secondly paint will neither stay on nor come off the brush. We had to ladle it on, more or less, in the end, using the bent double lid off one of the tins and a broad, spatula type thing borrowed from the airlock’s emergency equipment. After an hour we’d covered the vhf antenna dome with that funny coloured paint so thoroughly that it might as well not been there at all. Then, for good measure and while the paint was still wet, we stuck silver foil emergency patching bandages all over the top of it.

“Any radio signal that gets out of there is a better little wriggler than I am!” Astie said with some satisfaction. I could only agree with him. Shame about his own little wrigglers, I said to myself, mentally ticking off that item on my list of things to do once we’d reached Appleby. One: Find the specialist and get Asties bits looked at. Two: Get Else blooming Salverun Bee tied up and tanned…… in fact the more I thought about it as we bumped our way side by side into the airlock the more I realised that beating Else’s arse and thighs into striped pieces of beefsteak was something I wanted to do very soon.

Well Astie, bless him, had a hard on when he took of his EVA suit. Those things always have that effect on me, he said merrily, reaching for his coverall. I thought it a shameful waste of a good opportunity and told him so. Don’t be in such a hurry to get dressed, I said, so he leaned on the locker and allowed me to play with his cock and with her titties and delicious pussy too. After a while though I did have to concentrate on the male part of him. Like I said, it was too good an opportunity to waste! Now I don’t mean to brag but I can usually get a good few inches of him down my throat before I start gagging. I’d make a good sword swallower, I think. Then, aroused as he was and with more than half his delicious length inside me he began to tell me about what he and Miny had done to Miss Elsie Salversun Bee……

173. Preparing to leave.

2007-11-29T20:49:00.000Z

173. (Preparing to leave) Someone once said they thought a week was a long time in politics. Someone……….um, Well I can tell you a few hours is a long time when you are in love. Oh yes I loved Miny and Mo and dear old Astie. Even bloody Else, I suppose, in a twisted sort of way, but what I did not feel was a sense of loss, of bereft deprivation when I was apart from any of them for more than a few minutes. It had happened a few times with all of them of course but only fleetingly, until something else came along to distract my attention. With Mabe it was different, don’t ask me what I mean, I can’t explain it. It was simply a phenomenon which occurred between her and me and no-one else. It wasn’t even entirely sexual, believe me. No there was something more, but what it was I couldn’t tell you. Perhaps we just needed each other. For a while certainly, it really did feel that way. Hades, oh Hades, we lay together for ages. Whispering and kissing, plotting and giggling, scheming in breathy tones exactly how we would overthrow the Salversun empire. Ages and ages while the others banged about grumpily in the search for me. And when I did finally reappear, amid catcalls and ribald remarks a’plenty, I could not, dare not, tell my crew where I’d been, had to keep it from them until after we’d lifted.

Mabe went back to her office job for one last morning in order to tell them what they could do with themselves generally and the Salversons in particular and of course to secure the few odds and ends of personal stuff which remained there. Then later, a few hours before we sealed and made ready to lift, when no-one was looking I allowed her to stow away on board Atcheon, you see.

The first of our useable launch windows came and went. No matter it was a very brief one. The one I intended to utilise, in two day’s time was by far the best. Last minute panics cluttered my time, little things! Always the little things. And this time I wondered if we’d have enough tampons. Of course there were a few dozen boxes stored somewhere, unopened, unwanted by us expectant mums, lying half forgotten in a locker, getting dusty. Stupid thing to worry about, but what do you do?

Well what I did was to appoint Mo to the post of Atcheon’s Official Storesperson first class, a post which she accepted graciously, throwing herself into the job immediately and with some relish. Hey, I even conceded to her request for an arm flash to sew on her coverall! An embroidered patch from who-knows-where, fished out of the depths of my workbox. That meant buying a clipboard and pencil and a spiral bound pad and a little carbonless duplicate book so she could keep track of things. Now, when, if, I wanted to know how many five sixteenths castellated Whitworth nuts we had, I wouldn’t have to personally go and count them. Their number would already be listed neatly there. That was the theory anyway, it remained to be seen whether in practice it would work. So Mo was happy with that, which rather left out poor old Miny. I remedied that by making him Head Cook. Well his culinary skills were not that bad. They were simply a bit limited. Severely limited in fact, to fried food and fish. I thought he’d made shepherds pie too but apparently that had been a joint effort with little Mo. But he was willing to learn if we were happy to be experimented upon. Hmmm! Well one less chore made it sound quite worthwhile. And, believe it or not the food on board improved almost immediately.

Astie fell into the role of Number One very easily. Again this was something he was already well practised at. Which left Else with nothing to do, in fact I wasn’t altogether sure that she was staying. The girl was so damned indecisive you see. Little wonder she’d always been preyed on by the wrong sort of men. She was practically incapable of saying either yes or no at the appropriate time. Of course she decided she would come with us in the end, if only as an easy way out, so far as she could see. So I got her to agree to be the housekeeper, a role, and a name which baffled her completely. Far better for all concerned, I thought personally, if she’d been trussed up in a corner somewhere with her legs wide apart and a selection of dildoes and whips easily to hand. I could put her down in the log under “recreational equipment” then! And yes indeed, it came to that later, much to everyone’s relief. Shame she couldn’t find the nerve, even then, to tell us exactly what she wanted and sorry too that I have to keep harking back to her. Still, by the time we were ready to lift Atcheon looked, and smelled, as tidy and as wholesome as she had ever been. What a nice change to be able to sit down in a chair without the need to move two dozen assorted items of junk first, and to lean back against a soft cushion, and drink, from a clean, unchipped cup, a freshly brewed good cup of tea. The expense involved used up the very last of my few remaining credits, but I didn’t care. I had no intention of returning to Ross765 for the foreseeable future, once we’d left. No intention whatever of returning there!

Which brings us neatly back to the problem of the IFF and how it might be disabled a split second before we made the jump to hyperspace. Then, as I walked round Atcheon with the launch crew, collecting beribboned covers, caps and failsafes, the way to do it suddenly became all too clear to me.

Grow your own knickers.

2007-11-12T13:55:00.000Z

172 (Grow your own knickers) “Oh I am going to enjoy you, Vicky,” Mabel said throatily. “I hope we are going to enjoy each other!” I replied boldly, still staring at her unbelievably wonderful village green sized triangle of hair.

Oh you know Sweethearts, there were dozens of beaded plaits in it, little translucent seashells alternating with red, green and blue coloured glass beads. May I take some time to describe her to you? Have you the time to wait and wonder, a moment to listen while I paint a picture for you?

I knelt down in front of her, she making no move to stop me. “Mabel, this is incredible” I murmured. Sweethearts the hair on Mabel’s pubes was as long as mine is on my head, maybe longer. Alright! Well you know I like to keep mine shortish while I am in space, so Mabel’s was easily longer than that by several fingerwidths and so soft and silky that I just had to touch it touch it and touch it. Mabel made no move when I did so, tentatively at first, with my fingertips alone. But it was the plaits and the beads which were so amazing and, as I studied them, studied her, all kinds of crazy situations began racing through my head.

There must have been at least thirty separate strings of beads hanging vertically, I suppose, and that was only the top most row, where her hair began barely an inch below her navel. Below that patterns of plaits and beaded arrangements crisscrossed extensively, so that, after a few moments I knew, I just knew, that something very exciting must lie in wait for me, between her legs.

Softly she lay her hand on my head and guided me closer at the same time as she moved her feet further apart. With growing excitement I saw that many of the vertically threaded strings of beads were also plaited into the horizontal ones, thereby forming a kind of net. Grow your own knickers, I thought to myself and began to giggle. Hades! A kind of mad dizziness came over me, an uncontrollable desire to do something, something, something but I knew not what! Dizziness it was, for sure, but something more besides, for I found myself pressing my face, with her encouragement, into the space at the lowest point of her bejewelled triangle. I caught the first scent of her then, my nose, fitting exquisitely into her crease, doing nothing but add to the headiness, to the first glimpse of her lips, close up, full fat and adorned wonderfully with gemstones and rings.

Her hand held me there, gently but firmly, my face as close to paradise as it had been for many a long year. Oh yes I’d considered genital jewellery several times and on several occasions, it was just that I’d never actually gotten around to it. Maybe secretly I considered I was not big enough, no, I mean, rings, studs, bars or whatever have to go somewhere, through something that is. And almost every other female I had encountered had lips that were larger and more prominent than mine. Mabel’s, Sweethearts, now Mabel’s were huge. I know it is not like me to describe such things in so much detail but for once I admit, I was finding the situation astounding.

“Mabel, this is incredible!” I told her again, breathing deeply.

She made some small noise somewhere in her throat, part laugh, part sigh of anticipation. Then she slid her feet further apart, oh my Sweethearts, further apart still and pushed my face further in. And I saw that some of what I’d taken to be suspended jewels of some kind, hanging perhaps from golden studs or rings, were in fact real gemstones in their own right, gleaming translucent dewdrops of her own sweet juices waiting there for my tongue tip to sample and savour them. There were gold and silver jewels to supplement the real ones of course, dangling examples of pearls and sapphires with an emerald and fire opal perhaps, in between. But it was the liquid gems which attracted my tongue initially, how could I………I mean, how could I resist?

Her little noises continued, somewhere deep in her throat, her thighs soft and warm against my cheeks. I stretched out my tongue but could not reach them; plucked then swiftly with one finger, and transported them thus to my mouth instead……

It was my turn to make some small noises then. Wonderfully appreciative noises while she twitched and pressed a threaded sapphire against my forehead, her fingers arching talon like in my hair. We communicated in jerks and whimpers after that, staggering as unsteadily as an inebriated octopus resolutely towards the bed.

She was half a word into saying something when I kissed her lips, bit her lips I have to say, because I felt, no I knew, she’d want me to, half a whisper into telling me something I didn’t need to hear when I pinched her left nipple twixt finger and thumb. We were so close, Sweethearts, already, so close that I felt I knew everything about her, so close that I knew I could fall in love with her body without even trying and with her soul and with it all the rest of her, a little while after that.

Sorry..............

2007-11-05T07:34:00.000Z

Sorry, at the moment Vicky is somewhat unwell. Normal services will be resumed as soon as possible.

A Growing Family. 1.

2007-10-22T13:44:00.000+01:00

171. (A Growing Family. I.) She was close to tears, I could see, so I pulled another chair in from the alcove and sat down as close to her as I could. “They’ve fucking well screwed me this time!” She said venomously. “Good and fucking proper, they have!” I looked at her carefully. Rage alone kept back the tears, I could see. “Who have?” I asked gently. “Imperial Spaceways, of course!” She spat “and Mrs fucking Salversun herself in particular!” This came as no surprise to me, I have to say. The only question was why. Why would a gigantic corporation like Imperial Spaceways do such a thing. “Fucked me, they have!” Mabel said again. I nodded understandingly. “I thought they’d be behind it somewhere……” I ventured “Whatever it is”

“Fuck it Vicky!” Mabel exclaimed. “Have you…I …I mean, can you get me out of here?” She leapt up then. Got to her feet in an obviously high temper. For a moment I thought she was going to start smashing things.

Instead she snatched her outdoor clothing from a hook and began to put it on. “Come on!” She cried as soon as she was a little more than half into it, “I’ve done a bloody ‘nuff here! Lets go for a walk!”

Hurriedly I followed her out of the building and into the main snowproof corridor which ran between the various admin buildings. I say hurriedly because Mabel was soon proceeding along the thoroughfare like an enraged whirlwind and I had a bit of a job keeping up with her.

We came to a crossroads with assorted yellow signs and blue ones but Mabel turned on her course unseeingly, then, a hundred furious paces further on we turned again, into what looked suspiciously like an accommodation wing to me. Aha! Mabel is taking me to her quarters, I thought. And so it was Sweethearts. A dark green door with a circular key port in the middle. Hardly easing the pace of her stride Mabel waved at it irritably. Luckily the door slid open swiftly for had it not done so I am certain she would have walked full tilt into it. Possibly even straight through it. As it was there was time enough for both of us to rush into the darkness before, with a hiss and a rattle of springs, the door slid closed again. “Fuck it, oh fuck it, Vicky!” Mabel said as sensors flicked bringing pale light to the darkness. She relaxed then, shut down the rage, deflated the defences, dared to look at me straight as her tears began to flow freely. Awkwardly I stood there while she turned to face me, awkwarder still when she sniffled and said: “Sorry Vicky, I didn’t mean to get you involved in all of this……” I shook my head. Where the Salversuns were concerned I was involved anyway and I told her that. “Bastards! All of them!” She hissed. She needed a cuddle, I could tell, at the very least. A comforting hug from a sympathetic female at the very least. “I’m alright now” she assured me, quaveringly as we kissed.

Just like that? I hear you ask, and I can easily reply, yes! It is easy, so easy, with some girls, you see. And she was alright, just like she’d told me. Alright when she tore off her outdoor clothing and better still when she unzipped.

Oh those Imperial Spaceways Coveralls are cleverly constructed, I’ll grant them that! Built in heating, communications and life support systems, but this one, full of warm Mabel MacAllister, unzipped in exactly the same way as mine did. We both hopped around for a moment while the elastic released our ankles and feet, then we were kicking the things off, shedding them like some weird, half inside out lizard skins and I for one was back in my favouritest of all garb once again. Bare skin with bare skin and bare skin! “Fucking hell Vicky!” Mabel howled “That……that was bloody quick!” “It was, wasn’t it!” I agreed. Funny? Strange? Natural. Neither of us has said anything and yet, in the twinkling of an eye there we both were, hot as hell salivating for each other.

She was broad of hip and, what can I say, rather more than generously breasted, I saw, the moment I looked at her. No doubt she was thinking similar thoughts about me. Grinning inanely we gazed at each other openly, our eyes unwavering as we took in everything. And for a moment I thought she’d some kind of underwear on, thought she’d something to hide from me. Then, with a great lurch of wonder I realised what I was looking at really was the extent of her pubic hair. Why is it I can never meet anyone ordinary, I asked myself blandly. Why do I always get myself mixed up with freaks?

170. Free Rein............

2007-10-20T17:19:00.000+01:00

170. And you know, dreaming for me comes so easily. Outside influences present or not and neither encouragement nor discoreagement playing any part.. Why, in all the Seven Stars would I want to encumber myself with another slave when, only recently, I’d given freedom to two others, I'd never know, except that to enslave Else and treat her in exactly the way she wanted to be treated suddenly appealed to me. Oh Miny had seen it alright, that first time I’d dreamed with him. They’d hunted her then, like an animal across the grassland on their home planet. Hunted her and captured her like the prey she wanted so much to be. Instead of telling us she did not like men why didn’t she say what she really meant? That her lifelong ambition was to be utterly enslaved to them. Strangely enough, however strong that desire, when the opportunity had arisen, on two occasions to my direct knowledge, she’d been so afraid to take the plunge that she’d made herself ill. I knew then that even that was a part of it, part of what she wanted, part of what might be seen by others as degradation perhaps. Well there were enough of us in good old Atcheon now to not only satisfy every single one of Else's desires but think up and carry out a good many more than she'd ever dreamed of. Desires? Was that the right word to use, I wondered. then for a moment or two I really wished I knew more about it. Oh yes, of course I could punish the girl. I had no problem with that, but to actually draw blood or induce unconsciousness, of that I was not so sure. And here I rather wriggled out of things a bit. Miny could do it when she required something extreme, or perhaps Miny and Astie together............ well in fact the more I thought about it, the more I dreamed about it the more turned on I felt. So when the dream sequence turned back to the part when Miny and all those other hunters who looked exactly like him actually caught her again, this time I stood and watched instead of turning away. And suddenly, disturbingly, I discovered some new things about myself. Perhaps it was because I already had the knowledge in the back of my mind that Else really enjoyed it that allowed me to enjoy the spectacle of her rape myself. Not every woman's kind of dream, I know, and it was a dream, if a powerful one which had a profound and long term effect on me. One which I am certain I shall come back to. For now I told myself, if thats the way she wants it she only has to say. There'd no longer be any point beating about the bush! And it was with that thought uppermost in my mind that after an hours sound slumber I awoke. The performers had gone, except for a pair of exquisitely proportioned and delightfully naked little girls who were, apparently, awaiting my return to the land of the living with some trepidation. As I had not actually made a purchase, they told me, it was only right and proper that I should get my money back. I don't know what had been said and I don't really care. I hadn't paid any money to anyone, either in credits, in kind or anyhow else but I was so turned on by my dream that I thought better than to mention such a small detail as that.

Sweethearts they looked after me for the next two hours better than any two little girls had done since I don't know when. They were professionals in every sense of the word and whats more they enjoyed what they did too! So much so that when they'd done with me and I'd done with them, the sense of agitated frustration I'd awoken with had been replaced entirely by a feeling of profound satisfaction. After those two all other words and deeds were superfluous.

...........................................

There came a time, about ten days after landfall when Atcheon was unloaded completely and completely loaded up again. Of course there was a launch window to co-ordinate with and one or two loose ends for me to tie up, but apart from that, so far as I was concerned I had seen and done and had enough of the snow covered cold, bloody cold, planet known as Ross765. Disappointingly I’d drawn a complete blank in my hunt for a clinic with enough facilities to have a properly detailed look at Astie’s reproductive shortcomings. Several people suggested, I thought rather flippantly at the time, that RossA33 was the planet where Astie ought to be and Sand City specifically. Apparently a retired medical research engineer by the name of “Tubes” lived there. Well as it happened Sand City was the place I’d hoped to visit anyway, when and if, we ever got to RossA33, along with several tons of cement and a couple of very nice balloon wheeled vehicles which were now in Atcheon’s cargo, so having a the name of someone who actually lived there was something of a bonus, I thought. A reference point in fact, if you like. But Sweethearts, there were so many ends to tie up where we were before we could even consider taking off for anywhere else. The remainder of my credits, Elsie Salversun Bee, who wanted to come with me after all……and the Grope Diamonds specifically. Oh yes, the bully boy had been back for them, and to demand the whereabouts of Else too, a couple of times. Luckily for him, and disappointingly for me, Miny and Mo did not see fit to use their bowl of snakes trick to get rid of him again. Maybe he thought we’d lost them or sold them or something, I don’t know, but he did stop coming. Instead Mabel herself produced a written demand for them from the Imperial Spaceways Corporation, one day. Well I was only too pleased to give the whole lot back to her, cheap cardboard display boxes an all. The black canvassy type bag she’d brought with her held everything most securely and she even gave me a receipt for them. So that was one less bother some bit of nonsense to worry me. Or so I thought at the time, but we will come back to that. Then, after a while my crewmembers, Miny Mo and Astie that is, got round to apologising to Else. She accepted their apologies graciously too so I hoped that was the end of that, though what went on behind the scenes, I had no intention of finding out or even imagining. Three days before the first of a series of useable launch windows and with all our cargo loaded, lashed and netted I found myself for once, with absolutely nothing that actually desperately needed doing. Do you know Sweethearts, some thoughtful soul had even arranged for the remainder of that nonslip paint to be applied to the inside parts of the hold before the cargo was loaded. A lot of people went in to look at the pool and the exercise table and equipment, apparently in spite of the door supposedly being locked. I had Astie, who’d arranged for a replacement monitor to be fitted, to thank for that. Ha! Atcheon as a tourist attraction! I’d hadn’t ever seen her as that! So I looked around critically and found much more had been done than I’d anticipated. So much so that suddenly I found I had three days of more or less idleness before the first of several useable opportunities to lift came along. Launch windows, that’s them! Co-ordinations between 2 planets, course trajectories, orbital velocities and so on. Three days with nothing much to do, nothing pressing, not even anyone making demands on my time by wanting to fuck. I allowed myself a few moment of self congratulation. My crew were starting to work as a team after all! So I’d leave them to it, I thought, let them make their own mistakes, come and find me if anything serious went wrong. Pleased with myself I went round to the spaceport office to see if Mabel was there. I still had the idea in the back of my mind that there might be a way of disabling the IFF after we’d lifted but wasn’t sure, even then, if it would be possible. There are fail safes and fail safes after all, built in as part of the fabric, part of the structure of the craft in effect, for exactly that reason. So they cannot be turned off. I’d reached that conclusion some time ago and was now working through the idea of disabling the actual antenna. I’d had trouble with those things before, those damned antennae, if you remember. So it was with something of an analytical frame of mind that I sauntered up to dear Mabel’s office and let myself in.

There are notable moments in everyone’s lives when far reaching, though usually not seen as such at the time, decisions are made. This was, I found out later, to be one such. Mabel was sitting morosely in her cubby hole when I found her, a crumpled comm. sheet in her hand. “I’ve been, promoted, demoted, moved sideways, Vicky” She said mournfully.

168. Else's Secrets are revealed.

2007-10-15T16:51:00.000+01:00

168 (Else’s Secrets are revealed) They treated us like royalty at that little workshop, I suppose because Mabel had put a word or two in already. They sat us down and brought us tea and a selection of nubile servants to display their wares. I think you will agree that the levels of attraction between an entirely naked female and one whose body is enhanced by two links of chain and an inch wide strip of leather is significant. Some of the items, I have to admit, were a little more elaborate than that but none were much more than elaborate harnesses designed with a single use in mind. I’d thought, right at the start of this episode, that I’d refrain from going into too much detail so far as the “garments” were concerned, preferring instead to leave it to the imagination of the reader and would have done so had not, after some while, the focus of the articles being displayed altered subtly. From the start the emphasis had been upon fun, enjoyment, voyeurism and titillation, with a modicum of silliness thrown in to keep everything lighthearted. The servants had disported themselves eagerly, laughing together, pouting at their “audience” and generally fooling around. Then suddenly the tempo of the background music altered. “Enough of that!” the announcer said “Children’s toys are one thing but now may we introduce our new range” All at once the spotlight was on real pain and real discomfort and the imposition of one will upon another regardless of the consequences. On my left I heard Mabel sigh deeply and on my right I sensed, more than anything else, Else’s sudden terrified fascination with what she was seeing. To be honest I felt strangely embarrassed for the first time since I don’t know when. Discomfort is not really a turn on for me, neither inflicted upon me nor for me to impose it upon anyone else. I suppose I am a lazy cow really. I’d sooner doze and dream than truss up and whip. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve nothing against it, nothing against those who do indulge. All the same it is not for me. Titillation is one thing but, to my way of thinking, torture a complete other. So, if I got turned on by the spectacle it was only because I knew Else was, not because I was directly affected by it all myself. Yes, you might say it was a get out, and maybe it is. But I know what I like and pierced labia stretched almost to tearing point is not one of them. Neither is the art of breast binding, mine ache enough at times as it is without confining them inside cages made of tinplate and leather. Boring? Sorry! Maybe I am. Like I said, I know what I like!

So Else stared and Else wriggled and Mabel looked at her sideways knowingly. The music crashed and rumbled like a thunderstorm and I began to wish someone would come round with a tray of tea. Things were getting beyond a joke and further into the realms of someone else brought to life fantasy. How were two girls fixed together by little chains supposed to eat and sleep I wondered gloomily, even if, in passing they did smirk cheekily at me. Maybe I was missing something, I don’t know, but two blokes encased entirely in skin tight black rubber would be useless as lovers. I would not want to lie anywhere near things that looked like a misshapen tyres or animated balloons. So there it was, I was bored. Worse, no-one brought any tea around and as Mabel became increasingly animated and Else increasingly turned on, I began to get grumpy. They had and endless variety of clothing and equipment, it seemed, as well as an inexhaustible queue of wiling people to display them. If these were the kind of escapades Else wanted to indulge in well that was okay for her. I wouldn’t try to dissuade her, hell I might even help her, so long as she did not expect free reign to do the same to me.

Some of the stuff was very much the same as what the announcer had called ‘children’s toys’. The only difference appeared to be the materials used in their construction. Thick leather instead of velvet, steel instead of a lookalike plastic of some kind. I maintain there is a limit to what may safely be done to a human body anyway and some of these examples came close to being borderline. Sweethearts, it may seem strange to you I know, but after a while I do believe I fell asleep! And as I dozed, as usual and as always, I began to dream.

167. Confessions.

2007-10-05T21:03:00.000+01:00

167. (Confessions) The hotel heating awoke me abruptly, awoke Else too, curled as she was at my side. Hades! The noise of it! Almost as loud as Atcheon taking off fully loaded. Then Mo was there, with Miny behind her, robed and coveralled and telling us about breakfast.

I didn’t ask where Astie was, suspecting him of being behind Else’s previous evening’s upset. They knew anyway, I reckoned, that I was not very happy with any of them. So we rose and showered, Else and I, leisurely in the steaming, scalding water cascading from the unstable hotels heating system and after a few moments indecision Mo and Miny went away. Yes I was hungry, we both were, but for each other now we were warm, rather than any sort of hotel breakfast. The torrent diluted the tears she shed as she confessed to me how much she enjoyed being tied up and beaten, my hugs reassuring her that, of course, everything was alright. We didn’t have to touch each other very much, hot water and soap did most of the rest. Yes we were hungry but happy as we made each other promises, agreed upon methods and moods and likely safe words. All, I suppose, in less than one scalding and steamy half an hour. Isn’t it Bloody Marvellous, I thought, as we messed around drying each other, not so long ago I gave Miny and Mo their freedom. Now it looks like, whether I like it or not, I have taken on this woman as a slave. Finally we got ourselves dressed and shod and were more or less ready for a rather late breakfast.

here is something remarkably similar about all hotel breakfasts. Toast, coffee, croissants, butter, coffee, cereals, scrambled eggs and of course, if you really want it, what is euphemistically called a Full English Breakfast. Late as we were we ordered it all of course, with double coffee, croissants and all the trimmings, well, eventually I thought, I was going to have a very busy day. We ate alone, facing each other across the table, Miny and Mo having gone back to our room already, according to staff, but, just when I was beginning to think I’d upset them irrevocably the woman, Mabel appeared on the scene with some ideas about how to spend the rest of my money. It was the first time she’d met Else of course and it became immediately apparent to me that she found her submissive demeanour extremely appealing. So there it was! In one single, delightful morning I’d learned a whole barrowload of exciting new things. There was a place, she said, where purpose made ‘slave’ clothing and equipment could be bought. Remarkably, well perhaps not that remarkably, looking back on it now, we’d reached that point in our negotiations relatively easily. Its a group, Mabel told me, a collective of like minded people who all work together. Else looked suitably chastened when I grinned. Its not far away, Mabel told me lightly, if you like we can easily get there. Else had begun to shiver by the time we’d finished our breakfast, with Mabel mopping up anything left like a ravenous cross between a vacuum cleaner and a swill deprived pig.

It is a phenomenon worth remarking here I think, that every significant stride made by HomoSap in any field you care to mention, has been fuelled, financed if not entirely driven by Man, and Woman’s predilection for sexual activities. Some of our earliest artforms depict the nude female form, many early printed books contained tales with tittilating themes, the earliest known photographs were of naked women, and so on. So it ought not to have come along as much of a surprise to find, here on Ross765, a planet whose ‘midsummer’ temperatures rarely soared above freezing, that an entire industry should be centred on the pastimes indulged in by naked, or otherwise unclothed, men and women.

Very soon then, the three of us scampered along to the place where the workshop was, to that insignificant doorway. Well just as soon as Mabel had done eating. She was radiant with calories by now while I was merely merry with interest. Else, poor dear Else on the other hand quivered with terrified, anticipatory excitement. Let me tell you there were things displayed in those workshops which really did make me think. Oh how I wished I’d brought the rest of my crew along to see them!

166. Comparing notes.

2007-09-29T09:33:00.000+01:00

166. So I kissed her lightly on her forehead as she tightened and relaxed made some little noises, whimpers and sighs like a little cat who’d just finished off a large bowl of cream. Sexually we were very similar, me and Elsie Saunderson Bee……The only difference was while my needs and desires were and had always been up front and open hers were, (or had been until she met us) severely repressed. I’d gone through all the usual phases of exploration at a very early age, with Uncle Beast and Aunties willing assistance of course, while she had had no one apparently to guide or encourage her at all. She’d been pursued relentlessly by both men and women it was true but only for their own ends it seemed, almost all encounters ending in tears of one kind or another sooner or later. With one or two notable, and easily forgotten, exceptions all my liaisons had been extremely pleasurable to me whereas most, if not all, of Else’s had not. We’d both discovered and explored the intricacies of bondage and restraint, S&M if you like, at around the same age but again while my exploring had resulted in a series of enlightening discoveries Else’d had brought her nothing but fear and real, unlooked for pain. Poor Else! Always getting the worst end of the stick!

She lifted her arm above her head, allowing, for a moment, a spear of chill night air in. He skin smelled warm and musky, of almonds and the sweet sweat of a curl haired underarm. Wriggling, I wished we were somewhere warmer, somewhere we might walk together in sunshine and not worry about, not even consider, the possibility of freezing to death. Perhaps RossAA3 would be a good place for us to go together. Appleby, yes……perhaps it would be a good place for us to go together……

Smokie sat sphinx like, eyes flashing disdainfully golden. There were shredded garments on the floor under the pedestal upon which she sat, clawed to ribbons coveralls and underclothes……and a long corridor reaching into the distance beyond her. Elsie’s pussy leaked juices onto the pale insides of her thighs, frizzled hair, aroused lips, a wrinkle adorned with dewdrops. When she moved a shadow softened her shape, darkening it down to a gleam with convulsed and shimmered like a mirage. I could not hold her, could not reach her, the corridor elongated and her shimmer shifted. I heard her cry, heard her howl, heard the soft squish behind the jolt of her orgasm. And my hands and arms were wet again, my face streaming stickily with her copious release.

Smokie sat sphinx like, eyes flashing green and gold in the sunlight. From a balcony high she surveyed her domain, from river’s edge to far horizon, from this near quay to a single distant sail, half down over the charcoal horizon. Fallen rose petals clothed the steps, sharp edges softened by the sheer volume of them, lipstick pinks and pastel saffrons, and here and there, among them, a fallen leaf. You are wonderful Vicky, she said and I love you love you love you! But I tightened the knots across her shoulder blades anyway, just to hear her gasp and wimper. Hempen rope is by far the best. It softens in sweat and, when new, smells wonderful. Every part of her was exposed to me. She had no secrets left to reveal. The soles of the feet are very sensitive so I went there first, drawing out screams so loud I had to fetch a gag. She squirmed at this, eyes wide, pupils black wells of hopeless terror much too good to spoil with a blindfold. Then I returned, with my little Malacca to her reddening insteps. Ball gags are good but some sounds still escape past them, which is to be expected. I’d done with her feet by then anyway by the time little Mo walked over to assist me, moved up to her buttocks and the backs of her legs. Between us we reddened them into stripes in no time at all, with Mo using a little vibrator on herself in between. Oh there are some very interesting places on a woman’s body, a dozen more, at least, than there seem to be on men! We slapped her face, both of us together, when, after a particularly skilful pattern of strokes Else began both to cry and to pee uncontrollably and limply all over the insides of her legs. Then soon after that Mo grunted deeply, shrilly into her long held off climax and I realised, as Else began to snore gently, that this too was all just a dream.

165. more tales of debauchery.

2007-09-23T21:46:00.000+01:00

165 (more tales of debauchery) When Uncle Beast died I cried for a week. Funny thing, even though we’d not actually done anything together for ages, a couple of years in fact, the only thing I wanted in all the world, as they brought his coffin down the aisle of the crematorium was to fuck him. When Uncle Beast died I met some old friends and made some new enemies, the latter his relatives, the former a couple of blokes I’d been to school with and who still lived in the area, surprisingly enough, though I hardly remembered them at all until they told me their names. Then of course it dawned on me who they were, twenty years down the line. Bill and Ben everyone had called them at school and laughed at them and shunned them because they were queer. How different things are now and how acceptable. They’d known Uncle Beast apparently because they were both smokers and because they enjoyed a particular type of boiled sweet which Uncle’s shop stocked. I discovered they know quite a lot about me, much more than I did about them and soon, without much of a preamble we were going over those good old remembered times we’d had when we were at school.

It was raining when we left the crematorium, standing under the covered porch for a moment until our respective cars arrived. Of course there was a bit of a do back at the shop for a select few friends and relatives afterwards, though by the look of it all of them came, select or not. That was both good and bad and a bit embarrassingly hilarious too. You see, to cheer everyone up auntie snuck off upstairs, got the whacky baccy and a bloody great album full of nude photographs of me……

I suppose it was to cheer herself up as much as anyone else ‘cos there were as many pictures of her in the album, almost, as there was of me, and of course a lot of Uncle Beast doing things to both of us. Dammit all Sweethearts! For the life of me I could not recall who’d taken most of them pictures! I mean, the ones with all three of us featured must have involved a fourth person, if you see what I mean. Polaroid cameras and the like were not very sophisticated in those days. You had to count, pull a sticky cardboard thing apart, then allow the results to dry, rather than simply getting on with what you were doing. So, there must have been someone else, I reasoned. I made a mental note to ask her, when I got a minute, while I, good humouredly smiled and admitted that yes I really had always enjoyed everything. At least they’d kept it in the family, I thought, with one or two notable exceptions of course. My sixteenth birthday being an occasion of note. ‘Sweet sixteen’ the caption had read, well it would have to have done, wouldn’t it? And there it was, a picture of me. In full colour for once (and I don’t know how they’d managed that) enjoying three blokes at the same time while dear Auntie herself made free and easy with my tits. So who took that picture I wondered again, recalling the occasion only very hazily. Even Auntie could not remember, knowing only that it was ‘someone’ rather than who specifically. So I smiled and pulled faces and made appreciative noises while the assembled mourners ooh’d and aah’d over me. I could detach myself from it all you see, sever my senses from the fixed focus polaroids and later on the developed at home monochromes, the crooked close-ups and the peculiar poses they’d once twisted and cajoled me into getting into. And the more I looked at those pictures the more I missed Uncle Beast himself, missed him more than I could tell anyone about. You see he was one of those men you encounter sometimes who manages to fulfil the complete spectrum of male roles. I’d done some quick adding up on my fingers at the crematorium when they’d read out his date of birth and, God’s knickers, he’d been thirty four years older than me, forty seven when he’d first fucked me at thirteen, Fifty odd in that threesome plus photograph that everyone was now looking at. That old! For a moment, right in the middle of the second hymn I’d suddenly felt both ashamed and exhilarated. Then Else moaned in her ecstasy, her pussy pulsing a gush of fluid against my hand. The tiniest touch was all it took, Sweethearts. Oh yes Aunt and Uncle Beast had taught me well and no mistake! Taught me how to do it when Else moaned and wriggled and asked me to bite her again.

Else Awakens.

2007-09-22T07:40:00.000+01:00

164. (Else Awakens) Else woke up soon after that. She must have heard me chuckling. Well memories of Auntie and Uncle Beast always amuse me. I can honestly say I never had a bad time while I was with them. Oh yes, I learned so much from the two of them, and, in a way, I suppose I taught then some things too. I learned that it alright for one female to physically love another, and I can’t tell you what a relief it was to be told that in a matter of fact sort of way. When the swinging sixties came along, a lot of the swinging, so far as I was concerned, was already old hat. My girlfriends were emerging, like twisted chrysalises, from centuries of sexual repression, into a world where they could tentatively admit to having periods and different coloured pubic hair from that on their heads. Mary Quant came along with her miniskirt, so I wore one especially to show off my arse and got spanked by Uncle Beast, who still wanted his share of me, though he was getting too old by then to really get it up. There are ways of satisfying a man of course other than fucking him, no doubt you will have heard of some of them? Well not many people had, apparently, in the swinging sixties. The girl I mentioned what I’d done to was severely appalled. You mean you put his thing in your mouth? she cried, horrified. She never quite knew how to take me after that! But I’m rambling again and I’m sorry. Distracting you from the main theme. Else in bed with me put her hand between my legs. A woman has a different touch to a man, you know. Less hesitant, I suppose, more to the point of things but lighter, softer, just enough. A lot of practicing on one’s self helps, doesn’t it? And yes, we were almost the same, underneath, except for the lips. Well hers were bigger than mine and I was envious, no I wasn’t really ‘cos I have the nicer bum. Not quite as nice as little Mo’s but nearly. She is asleep in the other room anyway so……“Whatever must you think of me Vicky?” she asked softly. For a moment I wasn’t sure what she meant so murmured something inconsequentially. “will you ever forgive me?” she persisted “Not if you don’t tell me what you are going on about, I won’t!” I said to her firmly. Then, damned if I know what made me do it but I reached for, and found her little button, pressed it hard and made her squirm. That was more than enough to get her going again, more than enough to get her writhing and gasping. I must be a sucker for punishment I suppose, something like that anyway perhaps because, quicker than you could say Gspot she was kissing my face and neck, all over the place, shoving herself against my hand and telling me how much she wanted me to bite her breasts. She turned onto her back and made a sort of tent with her legs, so as not to allow too much of the cold air in and in order for me to get at her easier. Maybe it was her dream, my dream, our combined dreaming that had made her so randy, I don’t know. Suffice to say her pussy was slippery wet when my fingers entered it. As slippery as it might have been with some man’s stuff leaking out of it. But it couldn’t have been that, she been with me for at least four hours hadn’t she? Hadn’t she? Unless she’d slipped out for it while I was asleep. So I pinched her right nipple hard with my free hand, the left, with short hard nails on all fingers. No its not abuse if someone wants it and Sweethearts, Elsie Salversun Bee……certainly did. She howled, writhed and shoved her hips hard against my fingers, all in one movement, her expelled breath hot against my skin. I think most women today know where those places are, yes there are more than one of them. I don’t know how many men do however. For all their supposed cleverness some still need a manual I think, yes some may even require a map. Well I know where every one of Else’s are, even the ones she didn’t know about herself at first. And all in the dark of a freezing, distant planet hotel bedroom. How about that!

164. Else Awakens.

2007-09-18T18:02:00.000+01:00

163. Uncle Beast.

2007-09-16T09:07:00.000+01:00

163 (Uncle Beast) You could not have seen those Dorniers, someone said. I know when that raid was and you weren’t even born then. And your old man was away with the navy and hadn’t been home for over a year. Sorry! I had to grin, remembering the panic stricken man trapped on the landing by his bracers which had caught on the doorknob on the inside of the bedroom door. He stayed there, suspended elastically, part way down the stairs while the air raid raged above the house and we lurked in the Anderson under the apple tree in the front garden. Auntie, wondering where he’d got to, swore at him when we went back in after the all clear, because he hadn’t put the kettle on! So how do you account for this then? I asked, showing him several exquisitely shaped pieces of shrapnel I’d picked up in the street. Junk shop, he answered. Theyre full of stuff like that. Well maybe they are, or were once upon a time but me and Susan found an airman’s head too, still with its helmet on, in the back garden of a bombed out house where we used to play. you wouldn't get that in a junk shop! It had been there some time we reckoned; oh we shivered as maggots fell out of its nostrils - they were the only thing alive about it. It was a Jerry, Susan said.

The man laughed uncertainly. So how do you account for it? I asked him. You still haven’t told me!

Someone related that story to you, he replied, turning on his side to look at me closely. Look, I said, how damned old do you think I am?? Two hundred and fifty three, it says so on my papers and I’ve a birthday next month to contend with. Gods tits! He said, I’ve gone and fucked my own great granny! He laughed nervously, wanting reassurance, wanting something more than simple straightforward sex. Something more but now not knowing quite what. Stories you’ve heard, he repeated, quelling his own fears. Trying to. Otherwise…..God’s tits you’d be….no, you’re only exaggerating, making up stories about something you heard. I grinned at him then, having no need to make up stuff when life was so good, bad, awful, interesting anyway. Besides, I didn’t want to worry him too much because, in a while, I wanted to have him again.

That caused them to start babbling of course. Those goody goodies Intercourse! They howled. At your age? I was a late starter I told them, if you reckon you’re starting late when you’re thirteen years old. There ought to be a law against it, they said. And maybe there was, I don’t know. But a law to protect who from whom though, I wonder. Him from me, or me from him? And he had a wife too....... A wife, they howled at me aghast! Oh how I enjoy relating that bit. Well me old man wanted me and me mum wouldn’t let him, so I had to get out, just to keep the peace. That was what I said, adding fuel to their flames. He was in the navy and she was a nurse, so I went to live with a woman I called Auntie. And her husband too, don’t forget. They kept a tobacconists, paper shop, sweetshop. The sweetshop was the best bit and the tobacconists the worst. The tobacco smelled horrible but the sweets were delicious.

They’d arranged a birthday party for me, you see. Of course I worked that morning, unloading the boot of his car. Cigarettes and cartons of things. Sherbet dabs in yellow tubes, liquorice allsorts in bright coloured boxes and boiled sweets in huge glass jars. June! Midsummer oh hell it was hot! I suspected they were up to something when they wouldn’t let me go into the other room. He’s doing some decorating, Auntie said. And so he was, but not the sort you’re thinking about. This was the kind where your friends come in and eat themselves silly and bring you little presents of things you don’t need. A plastic doll with a cotton dress on. Hideous to look at. I remember breaking its arms and legs off as soon as I could! But Susan, dear Susan, she knew me better. She brought me a book of poems she’d found on a bomb site. Queer stuff it was, pages and pages of it, little verses all brown at the edges where the book had been burnt. There was a little sepia photograph of a naked lady in the back with ‘Pigalle 1895’ written across her feet. I still have that book, Sweethearts believe me. I still have that scorched book somewhere but the French postcard got lost long ago.

Well the pink cake looked lovely but inside was a disappointment, heavy sponge with grit in, we were still on rationing then……Rationing they cry! What that many years after the war had ended? I nodded blithely then. Who says it had ended? It was rationing, anyway, so dried eggs had gone into it. No you won’t have known about any of that where you were! Do you know we played games for over an hour, little Jimmy from the brewery alley falling asleep halfway through blindman’s buff. His father was teetotal I heard someone say.

Now why is it that some of you still say "Its all rubbish Vicky! You’re making it up. Now come on, admit it, you are…… aren’t you?" And the smart arse ones who always ask, “How come you know so much?” Then of course my grin gets even broader, from ear to ear it gets. I read a lot, I tell them. Poetry mostly. Look! Then I show then Susan’s little book. The Omar Khyamm. By Edward Fitzgerald, they read. Ah I say, he only translated it, he didn’t write it. “Whats it about? They ask. Well Sweethearts, that’s it! Whats it about? I echo. Arabs getting drunk and fornicating mostly, I tell them. Then they gasp and stare at me. How do you know about such things, they ask me, and like I said, I tell then, well I read a lot. But later, when they’ve all gone, Auntie and her Uncle Beast will take me upstairs and put me into their bed between them and show me lots of other things too. Things you can’t read about, well not easily. Thats how I know so much. Oh yes it hurt me, but not so much as it might have, for she played around with me for ages before she allowed him to have me. That was nothing new either, she’d been doing that ever since I started my first period and was worried I was going to bleed to death. I learned then what an older woman looked like, her body I mean, how it differed from my own. Not by very much apart from surplus inches some enlarged nipples and a scut of black pubic hair instead of my half a dozen wispy strands. Oh yes he hurt me and I cried, for a moment, until she kissed it better and told me I could call him uncle beast from then on! Uncle Beast! I said. So forever after that’s as I knew him, I’d still call him that if he were alive, even now. So you see Sweethearts, that was a good start to my real sex life……No, I am not making it up! Hell, don’t you think enough has happened to me already for me not to need to do that?

162. Fitting some pieces together.

2007-09-15T07:58:00.000+01:00

162. (Fitting some pieces together) Disturbed though my slumber might have been I woke nonetheless feeling very refreshed and in possession of insights which, under normal circumstances, I might never have been privy to. We’d moved apart a little at some point during the night, no doubt pins and needles or cramp had played a part and Else now lay on her side with her back to me. I needed the loo so slipped out as quietly as I could so as not to wake her, still needing to sleep awhile longer if I could. And so it was that I found myself in dreams again the moment I slid back under the covers beside her. Dreaming, but not of travelling in space for once but of a time when I was very young, of a time when I still lived in the house where I was born. A grimy Victorian terrace between the railway lines and the river, with a busy road in between. How could anyone born in such a place not feel the urge to travel? There was fog on the river and the tide was ebbing and the banks of uncovered mud gleamed fitfully, sullenly wet. The horizon to the north as I looked from my window, all unaware of directions then, was composed entirely of the skeletal steel frameworks of serried ranks of cranes with here and there the masts or funnels of some ship at its berth. No tv aerials spoiled the view then, across the rooftops to the heath. Even the cranes, though massive, were dwarfed by the sweep of the heathland behind them, grey against the sky where one day other ships, skyships, would find their berths. Then, behind me the railyard clattered, brickwalls reflecting the powerful sound. The twelve ten express, Norwich to Liverpool Street which did not stop at Ipswich town! Oh yes they were true expresses then. In giant wheels and pounding pistons their powers lay, while signals a mile ahead urged them onwards. All clear, all clear on your main line.

There is a power and a majesty in a steam locomotive, don’t you think? Something which is lacking in the modern day diesel electric. Yes there was a pride in her, in her lines, her paintwork, the polish on her woodwork, chrome and windows. A pride which all modern trains somehow lack.

But I’m jumping ahead here by too many years to make sense enough for you to follow. My wish is not to confuse but to elucidate. So fifteen or twenty years previously, in the middle years of world war two and an air raid on the power station across the river by German aircraft. They’d followed the gleam of moonlight on the river all the way from the coast to their goal, to the bend in the river where the A14 bridge now is, all but one who failed to see the killer cotinary, the droop of cables, heavy with electricity between the first few pylons. The river flamed briefly, both reflecting and accepting the plane’s plunging death. Some time later we found, mum and I, some sand smoothed spars of aluminium while walking on what they once called the strand. There were barrage balloons and searchlights and death spitting guns, a combination of which claimed another two. I can’t say that the power station was hit as there was a blackout at the time anyway but everything came on again alright after they’d gone. Then the heath took the brunt of falling aircraft, its own defences claiming one, or so I’m told. There was a grass stripped runway there and a few wooden sheds painted to look like factories. Dummies they said, but we knew what they really were. They were bunkhouses where servicemen on leave took their doxies, I know ‘cos mum said so! Then the road of course, oh the road. The road had trolley busses on it! Have you ever seen such things? Electric vehicles which ran by stretching their arms upwards in order to bring the electricity down through their wheels to the earth. The same electricity that power station had made, the same electricity that had powered those lights to defend itself. Trolley busses! Three halfpence for a ride into town. And with a jolt and a sizzle we were off, grinding at much more than a steady waking pace. Under black bridge, that was our unspoken boundary, with a grind and a clatter along Wherstead road again. Well they were there I think until sometime in the sixties. You know I remember going back especially to look at them. On the heath, Ipswich airport, they called it then, the wires formed a perfect circle within their supporting frame, the end of the line, a circle of buzzing electricity from the power station across the heath.

161. Elsie gets her own way.

2007-09-12T19:03:00.000+01:00

161. (Else gets her own way) “Where the hell is your coverall?” I asked bluntly “Vickee!” she moaned they’ve hidden it……” No I did not feel protective. I felt murderous! “There is something you are not telling me, isn’t there?” I demanded. Else nodded miserably “Yes……” “A lot of things?” I persisted. In the yellow light she gazed at me pathetically miserably. “Please Vicky?” In the dim light her body gleamed sullenly, dimpled and goosepimply, shivering and bruised. I made her stand while I considered what to do with her. Turning her over to “the powerful man” whoever he was, was certainly an option, I supposed. I was very tempted, even after all we’d been through. But there’d been some good times too, hadn’t there. Satisfying sexy times alone together and with others too, in the bed. Besides I did not want to make another enemy, especially one who was so much influenced by the Salversuns. And, by all accounts, so much in their control.

Her teeth were chattering audibly now and yes, I was beginning to feel the cold too. There would be time enough in the morning, later tomorrow, to find out more about how she’d fit in with the rest of my crew, if she did at all. Obviously there was something about her they were unhappy with, and equally obviously I was sure they would eventually tell me. That being said I could not allow Else, like her or lump her, to stand in my bedroom and freeze to death. So I told her to get into bed with me again and, Hades help me! She got so close to me that I just had to cuddle her, iceberg tits and bum and all! I think she would have cried had her tear ducts not been iced up already. Kissing comes naturally in a situation like that. You cannot help it. Faces are so close together, bodies, arms and hands, hair flicking on each others shoulders, Mother! Even the hair on her head was icy! She returned my kisses though. Straight way, without any hesitation, the ordinary kind to start with, without any indication that they might go any further. I hadn’t expected them to, did not really want them to either. Believe me I really only wanted to sleep! “Lie still Else!” I said as she wriggled against me, icicle fingers and thumbs, deeply chilled arms and legs. “We’ll never get warm if you keep moving about!” I had to squeeze her hand between my thighs to stop her groping me, bite her shoulders until she lay still. Sleep! That was all I wanted! Sleep, not some prolonged and highly emotional lovemaking session. Believe me you can have too much of that! She did begin to cry then, her tearducts must have thawed out, and for once she cried quietly if copiously and without snivelling.

Our warmth did return gradually, a sort of sneaking and a spreading of it from bellies and stomachs until it permeated right down to our feet and legs. I was more or less asleep anyway by that time by the time the temperature had returned to where it had been and Else’s body lay alongside me limply. And of course I dreamed of her just like I knew I would. Dreamed about her, no with her, more like. With what was a different Else too, in those dreams. Perhaps they were some secret longing of hers, I don’t know but the images were powerful enough to totally engage me, to hold my attention completely so that, for once, the dream was clear and concise, the events running more or less consecutively. They were her deepest desires of course, her darkest secrets now revealed to me. I understood then why she might want always to flee. The men in her subconscious were monstrous, murderous beings, terrifying parodies of all that was powerful and negative in the human race and she, the demeanour she displayed in this dream, was the irresistible magnet which attracted such men.

160. The truth will out. II.

2007-09-11T19:31:00.000+01:00

160 (The truth will out. II.) “I’m soo cold!” she wailed, jiggling from one foot to the other. “I expect you are!” I agreed, wanting to smack her. “So why did they call you a spy do you think?” It was going to be a long night, I could see. Goosebumps disfigured her, shrinking her nipples and pock marking her arms and thighs with a myriad miniature craters. She had bruises too, I noticed, along the side of he left thigh and all over the top of her right breast. “Be…..because they found a stunner in my bag……” I nodded “Miny told me, I said. “A military weapon, he said. Why do you carry such a thing?” She turned her face and stared at me desperately “For my own protection of course!” she cried. “Why do you think?” Well Sweethearts, from experience I know that an ordinary ladies handbag stunner is protection enough against most assailants a girl is likely to meet. At least the ones I have seen are. They’re capable of stopping anything from a baby monkey to a full sized gorilla, with all the variations of primate, HomoSap included, in between. So why carry a military grade weapon unless it was for some other purpose. Like sniping at others from a distance for instance or deliberately killing them. Hades! Two or three hours agonising paralysis is usually long enough for a girl to make her escape without dragging around a weapon designed specifically for burning a hole right through a living being. Tiredness reminded me, dulling my senses and slowing my thought processes. “Why do you need something as powerful as that?” I asked carefully. Else shivered up against me “Oh Vickeee!” she quavered “Because a very powerful man is coming after me……an ordinary little stunner wouldn’t be any good against him” Well it was obvious to me when she said it that a certain degree of exaggeration was included in her answer. “That thing can take a man’s arms and legs right off” I offered cautiously. Else shivered “If that is what it takes to stop him then that is what I shall use!” she said.

I had to shiver at this too, picturing dismembered corpses and steaming, blackened edged holes burnt in everything. The stink never goes away you know. No matter how much you bathe it never entirely leaves your senses once you have encountered it. I’d almost say you’d never want to eat at an outdoor barbecue again! “No man deserves that sort of treatment Else!” I said. “Kill him outright if you have to, as a last resort, but even then……” “He….it……is not that sort of man, Vicky!” Else hissed.

Under normal circumstances sweethearts I’d have taken the woman in my arms and kissed and cuddled her but something stopped me from doing so this time. Perhaps it was the way she hissed out that last bit of explanation or by the way she appeared to exhibit no outward signs of remorse, I am not certain. There was something about her now, something different, something new which I had not noticed before. Perhaps the chill air in the room had shrivelled her breasts and pockmarked the rest of her skin but it was that very nakedness which made me suddenly want to add my own brand of bruises to her already obviously abused body. Disturbed are you? Disappointed to hear me say such a thing? Sorry, it is another side of me. One which rarely has the opportunity to allow its views out for an airing. Usually I keep it well in check but her manner, I knew, was calculated to provoke me anyway. Blatant and loaded with unmistakable suggestion. If she really was as cold as she said then why didn’t she at least put her coverall on before she came to my room I wondered. “Pleeease Vicky” she whimpered “Please let me get into bed……”

159. Making amends............. or something

2007-09-08T20:55:00.000+01:00

159 (Making amends) Eventually I found my way back to our hotel rooms having ensured all the goods I’d bought and paid for were actually going to be delivered to, and loaded aboard, my ship. Oh yes, I had been caught that way once before. A single box of expensive glassware had been omitted and its absence not noticed until I was several long dark lightyears away. It had been absolutely no good snivelling over spilt milk then, nor issuing dire warnings, predictions or ultimatums. It had been my omission and I alone had to pay for it. Once then! And once only! I’d have assisted with the transporting and loading too, had I not been in such a hurry to get back to my companions.

I need not have bothered for, disgustingly and annoyingly, all four of them were in an untidy heap in the middle of the makeshift bed, sound asleep. The state of them and the smell in the room suggested I might have missed a particularly energetic session of debauchery. Oh well! I could do with a quiet night on my own anyway. At least that is what I told myself as I slunk to the bathroom as quietly as I could so as not to wake them. Ungrateful rabble! I gritted, brushing my teeth savagely. Surprisingly I was much tired than I’d imagined I would be. Early stages of pregnancy and all that. Age! Oh yes, age! Impending old age! I accepted that. But at what age would I be too old to do anything at all, I wondered. And when I was, what would happen to me then? Sunset Nursing Home on Sol3 oh no! I would not be having that. I’d eject myself out of an airlock first. No, old age was something I’d always treated with some contempt, wryly, cynically or pushed to the back of my mind. But there was a real possibility that I might have to do away with myself in some fashion one day.

Cool sheets and cool air filtered and blown quietly in from somewhere. Darkness, proper darkness with no safelights glowing, no reflected haze of ambers gleaming. The little bed creaked comfortingly. It was one of those, I thought, designed to do exactly that because the manufacturers knew it was a selling point. The coverings smelled vaguely scented, though exactly what the fragrance was I had not a clue. It was neither lavender nor meadowsweet, of that I was certain but if……if……sleep sneaked and whispered and in a dozen heartbeats overcame me. Silence reigned and darkness blanketed……and in that split second before unconsciousness entirely overtook me……the shivering with cold naked body of Elsie Salversun Bee……slipped into the bed beside me.

The sudden shock of her body alongside mine made me cry out. In an instant, an instant in which I knew, with a dreadful certainty that I would not get to sleep so easily again that night, for her icicle arms were around me, her snowman hands chilling my belly and breasts. She whispered something, an apology, an explanation perhaps, in garbled half tones, her teeth chattering, Hades! Even her breath was freezing. So help me, I cringed! I drew back from her as an explorer might a leper. In an attempt to preserve my own warmth and yes, my sanity I rejected her, pushed her away from me, right out of the bed. Call me a selfish cow if you like! I don’t care!! I shall not deny it!!! All I wanted was to peacefully go to sleep in warmth and comfort and on my own. By all the stars, I was too tired to want anything else. Now suddenly here I was, wide awake, annoyed and getting cold, pushing poor Else out of my bed. “Vickeee!” she wailed “They pushed me out too. Where am I to go?” Well to tell the truth I didn’t much care right then where she went, except for the very real fact with nowhere to sleep and no clothes to put on, apart from her thin coverall perhaps, she would probably freeze to death in no time at all. “Said I was a spy, they did……!” Else snivelled. “Then they pushed me out of bed……I came to you, Vickee, for love and comfort……!”

In high dudgeon I fumbled for the light switch, found it and pushed it to ‘low’. A wan yellow glow darkened the edges of the room in an instant, bringing Else’s pale shivering body into sharp relief. “Pushed you out of bed did they?” I asked her. She nodded miserably, her teeth already chattering. “Now why in all the worlds would they do a thing like that?” I asked.

Bargaining. 2.

2007-09-02T10:05:00.000+01:00

158 (Bargaining 2) “I’m taking it off your hands!” I told him “She is only any good for spares!” Sark nodded blithely “So, there is some value……” I shook my head. By their very nature second hand spare parts are often as worn as the part they are intended to replace, sometimes more so. “Scrap! Most of it!” I exclaimed boldly. “Hardly worth the weight of moving it! Three hundred for the six seater with the wreck included and that my final offer!” Sark gazed at me wonderingly. It was unlikely, I thought, he’d had to made trade deals with a woman before and he didn’t quite know how to take me. He scratched his head thoughtfully. “Three fifty and you can take the both of them!” he said eventually. Should I argue further I wondered. His asking price was fifty credits less than I’d been prepared to pay anyway, but it didn’t leave me a lot of leeway. “What spares have you?” I asked casually “The usual gaskets and filters!” Sark said “A few odd tyres, lamps and bits and pieces……” “Put them in as well and you’ve got a deal!” I said. Sark looked so mournful I almost laughed at him “They’ll be no good to you if you haven’t got the vehicles, will they?” I prompted. “I’ll take another fifty for the spares” he said eventually. I let him stew for a moment, not too long so he wouldn’t change his mind. Then: “Alright!” I said “It’s a deal. Now what about the other two?” “Thought you wanted to hear them running?” he said. “So I do!” I said “Have you some way of starting them up as they are?” Now Sweethearts there are several ways of starting an EmmJay even when the batteries are flat but I wasn’t going to tell Sark about them. If I could get them off him without hearing them running then it stood to reason I’d get them cheaper “Well neither have been started for a while……” he began dismally “Turbines might be seized then?” I suggested. I knew damn well they wouldn’t be but again I wasn’t going to tell him “No, No!” he hastened “They won’t be seized. They’ve been looked after!” He was right of course, when I looked at them again. They were both quite high mileage models of course but neither showed any outward signs of distress. “The oils are ok!” he told me emphatically “Serviced, they’ve been. Quite recently……” I had to admit the oils were clean when I dipped them and there were no leaks or weeps that I could see. “I’m taking a chance!” I told him “Look, I tell you what I’ll give you a hundred and fifty for the both of them……” Somewhere behind me I am certain I heard Mabel gasp. Or maybe she was whispering something. Maybe they’d got something arranged between them, after all they both worked for the same boss didn’t they? “Can’t do it!” Sark said flatly “’undred and fifty? You’re skinning me!” It was a familiar cry, one I‘d heard before, one I’d used myself, several times “I’m taking a chance with them, you know!” I stated flatly. “I wish you’d told me!” Sark accused Mabel shortly. “I’d’ve had the batteries charged and everything if I’d known……” Alright then!” I told him “Two ‘undred! A hundred each, as they stand!” He was tempted I know, sorely tempted and anxious, now he had me interested, to be rid of the things I think, but like all dealers he was looking at his pocket. A hundred credits for a piece of machinery like that was a ridiculous figure to be arguing around. Ten times as much, easily, would they fetch on the right planet. One without snow but with plenty of sand. “Go on!” Sark pleaded “You can do better than that!” “If they were running I’d have no hesitation” I told him. “As it is, for all I know they might be seized, like I said. Both of them! Then what? I don’t expect you’d give me my money back!” Sark shook his head firmly at that “All goods sold as seen!” he said. “There you are then!” I told him “A hundred and ten each, as they stand and that’s it!” “Done!” Sark said quietly after an indeterminate length of time. We shook hands on the deals, including Mabel in it, well she was the one with the money. And, Joy of all Joys, I’d have a few credits left! A few? A lot more than I’d reckoned when Mabel had added it all up and agreed it with us both. Enough to get all three of us properly drunk anyway, I reckoned!

Well now, Sark was no different outside his own sphere of knowledge than he was in it. He was a dealer through and through and up for a bid at anything if he thought he might make a credit or two. So as we drank our shocking pink drinks in a Mabel recommended bar, we talked about dealing, buying and selling, and nothing else. In the end I agreed to sell some things to him and buy some other things from him in return. Five thousand tampons is a lot of cotton wool but it doesn’t weigh very much. A lot less than the crate of prospectors picks and shovels that we’d loaded on AAreah4 and forgotten about. So we parted merrily and contented enough.

157. Bargaining. 1.

2007-09-01T10:14:00.000+01:00

157 (Bargaining) “What do you want for them” is always a better way to go, I reckon. Easier because it given you an idea of the starting price. At the moment the three of those vehicles were worthless as they were and where they were. Tyred wheels with rough terrain treads, double dust filters, air cooling and recycling adaptions, Ultraviolet filters and Sunsensory glass in all the windows, wide wipers and extra capacity washer bottles, and that was only what I had seen from a cursory inspection. Sand vehicles on a planet covered entirely and perpetually with snow! “These two are not worth anything to me as they stand!” I told Sark boldly. “I’d have to hear them running before I made any kind of offer. The six wheeler sounds alright but I’d have to see her papers – you have got papers for them, haven’t you? And I’d want an independent check on her hydraulics and electrics. What I didn’t tell him of course was that she was a low mileage model, probably a special, possibly even a one off. I could tell by her plate and by a couple of other things on her cabin control panel that Sark obviously knew nothing about. Running times readouts for instance always showed more engine running time than actual running time of the vehicle, and what I’d seen had been remarkably low. None of the rev counter flags were any higher than their orange coloured centre pins allowed and none of the oil pressure lights had even flickered before she’d fired up. She may have been extensively fiddled with of course, but somehow I didn’t think so. Diagnostics programmes can be run which would indicate anything out of the ordinary anyway and, if her paper records had been kept correctly, the figures would give backing to these. Even paper records can be fiddled of course but who could be bothered to do such a thing I wondered. What was even more puzzling was why that type of vehicle was here in the first place. Unless it was expected they would be adapted for snow rather than sand. Sark grimaced. “I’ve paperwork for all of them, even the wreck, and I know what they are worth” he glared at me fiercely “Especially this one!” He went on patting the nearest tyre of the six seater. I nodded casually, faking nonchalance, faking all sorts of things except my growing interest. Mabel and I went into a huddle in order for me to look at my figures and to work out exactly how many credits I had left. It was possible, I thought fleetingly, that I would not be able to afford even the wrecked EmmJay anyway. Firstly it all depended upon what Sark was going to ask of me and secondly it depended upon not only the number but the value he put on my credits anyway. Let us say I had seven hundred credits all told. I might offer three hundred for the six wheeler and two hundred each for the other two, plus another hundred for any spares and so on he might have. Which left the wreck, if I wanted it and for which, reluctantly I’d offer him the remaining hundred. Those were the figures, rounded about somewhat in order to make the explanation easier. “You must have some idea then, what you want for her” I said. Sark grinned broadly “I want five hundred for her!” he said loudly “And I won’t take anything less!” I had to laugh at him then, didn’t I? “Five hundred credits!” I snorted “She isn’t worth even half that!” “Go on then!” he challenged “Bid me!” Slowly I stared at the vehicle again, as if noticing something else wrong with her that I hadn’t before seen. A little smear of oil on the backplate of a wheel for instance. I sighed and Sark sighed with me. Mabel, keeping out of the way in the background, also sighed deeply. “Like I said” I told him at last “She isn’t worth half what you’re asking. Her tyres are wrong for snow, for a start. That’s eight new tyres for who knows how much, even if you could get them……tell you what, I’ll give you two fifty if you throw in the old wreck as well!” Sark swore roundly “You told me you weren’t interested in the wreck just now!” he said. Obviously he’d miscalculated. “Give me four and I’ll throw the wreck in for nothing, if you want it” I shook my head, turned away, looked at the six wheeler again. She’d be very handy on RossA33, the planet where I intended to go next. In fact, I told myself, she was probably made for that planet originally but for some reason she’d ended up here instead.

The END

2007-09-01T10:11:00.000+01:00

I have had enough of msn and their biased opinions and self righteous moral stance. Between2planets has now been deleted, by me and the continuing storylines tranferred to this site: Of Time and Stars. I am sorry for any inconvenience caused. xxVickyxx

156. Buying some wheels.

2007-08-27T11:06:00.000+01:00

156 (The plot thickens) My second question caught him even more unawares than the first had done by the look of his expression. For a moment too Mabel as well looked startled. “The EmmJays?” Sark said eventually “No……they’re wrecks they’re……not for sale. You wouldn’t want them anyway……” He was making excuses, I could tell immediately. “What’s wrong with them?” I asked, steeling myself for the next barrage of bullshit to mislead me. “Like I said” Sark repeated “They’re wrecks! All four of them!” I nodded. “Are they?” I asked carefully. “Yeah!” he said unconvincingly. The next from him would be something along the lines of ‘how do you know so much anyway?’ “Ok!” I said “Then you won’t mind if I look at them?” I noticed Mabel and Sark exchange hopeless glances “Hmmmm?” I pursued. “Well, if you must!” Sark conceded.

He was right too, they were wrecks! One so badly worn and rusted that it was little more than scrap, except that all eight of its knobbly bulging tyres looked nearly new. Of the remaining three one was in very good nick, ignoring hard works usual dents and scratches. It was a six seater too whereas the others were only two’s. The wreck had no seats at all. “Are you serious?” Sark asked, as I unclipped the engine cowling on the six seater. I nodded, doing my best not to appear too serious though. “Do they run?” I asked with forced nonchalance. Mabel grimaced and him behind my back, my eye catching her reflection in a driving mirror. What was going on here, I wondered, and had I really caught a dealer wrong footed again. “The mark one does” he said, nodding towards the six seater. Wrong! I told myself. That a modified mark Two B, unless I am severely mistaken. “And the others did when they were driven in……” he went on. I waited while he scrambled into the six seater, listened while the pumps whined up into the starting process, breathed deeply when the engines fired and ran, raggedly for a moment, on all cylinders then listened while they roared throatily for long enough to ascertain the condition of them. After a while they throttled themselves back automatically, the raggedness ceased and the throaty roar subdued to a relatively quiet murmur. I swung myself into the cabin alongside Sark and ran my eye over the gauges. Well there were a couple of low reading, mainly temperatures but nothing that really concerned me. Sark peered at me wonderingly then closed the switches, killed the pumps and allowed the engines to run down. “Serious!” I confirmed “About this one at least. And the other two as well if you can get them running” I clambered out of the six seater and went over to one of the others. “You can take the weapons deck and the drivers armour off both of these” I told him firmly. Mabel looked suitably impressed and Sark stared at me open mouthed. “You know about these things then, do you?” he asked. “Enough to know what I am looking at!” I said. Both he and I knew I knew more than I was saying, but I was not saying any more than that. Sweethearts, long ago and far, far away, (as someone else once said) I used to be a rep for the company that made the EmmJays, so I do actually know quite a lot about them. That they would be very useful on a planet composed mostly of sand dunes was pretty obvious to me. I just wondered why no-one else had thought about it. Sark fiddled with the nearer ones of the later models for a moment before clambering into the cabin and attempting to start its engine. By the lack of any response to his endeavours I could have told him that the batteries were run down. But I didn’t. Sark shrugged, got out and proceeded to fiddle with the other one. “Look” I said “Get them two running as sweetly as the six seater and I’ll have all three off you!” I turned to Mabel hurriedly “You can pay the man, can’t you?” Mabel nodded uncertainly “I can when I know how much to pay him” she said “You haven’t agreed a price yet, have you?” Well that was true enough I suppose. True enough for me to wonder whether I had enough credits left to be able to buy them all or whether, for once, I’d overstretched myself. Sark paused, grinned first at Mabel, then at me. Then he asked me that ages old, dealers trick question “What are they worth to you?”

between2planets - episode 155.

2007-08-23T20:29:00.000+01:00

155 (Truth Will Out. I. ) “Do you know him?” I asked foolishly, thinking slowly that once again I‘d put my foot in it, said too much and given the game away. Me and my big mouth and all that! Mabel looked at me queerly, as if she knew more than she was saying. I am sure she did! No-one can work for the Salversuns and not do so. Sark, I was certain, would be in their debt in some way exactly as Crusty Boyd had been, in the same way as Mabel probably was. In the same way as I was determined I would not be! I’m too much of an individual to be followed, bugged, spied on, tracked and manipulated by any organisation, Imperial Spaceways in particular, so the kind of situation I could see myself becoming involved in was beginning to make me very wary. Did I really want to become associated with an illegal arms dealer I wondered. How much easier would it be simply to accept that the remainder of my credits were worthless in as much as they were not really negotiable with anyone other than the Salversuns themselves. Yes the local bank would accept them, but at a price favourable to them, not to me, a bank which was part of the Salversum empire anyway, in all probability. Maybe I should take them at face value and be satisfied. I’d had a good deal with Crusty Boyd and most of what I’d bought from him would now be loaded. Why not be content with that? Why not take the money and run? Take off for RossA33 at the earliest opportunity and not tell anyone.

Ross A33 is a desert planet. That means it is mostly ocean and sand. According to what I’d read anyway. It is about the size of Sol3’s moon but a hundred times more hospitable, having a fragrantly breathable atmosphere, a pleasingly warm climate, no cities and very few inhabitants. It has a down side too of course. No hospitals, no law enforcement and no infrastructure. It was a pioneer planet in every sense of the word a hundred years ago and still remains largely so to this day. Why then, I hear you ask, do more people not go there? That is a very good question of course and one I have many times asked myself. There are, I think, a couple of reasons for this. Firstly the Ross system itself is not easy to get to. It had taken us, if you will remember two long months and a bit to make it to Ross765 from that other remote planet EH4. Ross A33 was, in turn, another awkwardly placed journey, as journeys to inner planets of a system very often are. Secondly there is nothing to do on RossA33, or Appleby if you prefer, unless you like sand and sun and shallow seas. The bulk of my cargo to Appleby was to be cement, or at least the various elements in raw form from which cement might be made. Which brought me back to the question which inspired this diversion originally. Five hundred tons of cement in the sunshine and windswept open barrenness of a spaceport is not going to stand there very long before either it sets hard as stone or get blown away. With few roads and none that went anywhere significant, how would the damn stuff be transported away to where it was needed?

Sark said nothing. He’d neither replied to my question nor taken his eyes off me for more than a few seconds since I’d walked in. Sadly for him he’d misjudged me! I’m pleased to say men do that to me sometimes. Men do it anyway don’t they? Look at tits and arse and not at brain? Think a stature less than their own means is a weakness and apparent scatter brainedness a sign of a lack of resolve. I’d seen the transporters in Sark’s warehouse about ten seconds after we’d walked in but even now he’d not noticed me looking at them. The MJ Altern transporter is a delightfully quirky vehicle. Designed, I believe, originally for some speculative military needs which never came to fruition, it has become, in some places, the ultimate in useful vehicles to have. There were four in Sark’s care, so far as I could see. Four basic looking models in standard matt green livery, somewhat scruffy and somewhat down at heel. They’d had some use, that was obvious but, so far as I could see, all four looked more or less complete. Sark had not answered my question, I noticed. ‘Do you know him’ is not that complicated a question surely, the choice of answers being either yes or no. Nothing difficult there, I wouldn’t have thought. And yet…… So I tried a second question without waiting for the reply to the first. “How much are you asking for the EmmJays?” I said.

MSN Bastardry.....

2007-08-23T20:11:00.000+01:00

OK. I accept that msn in their infinite wisdom have closed down my space between2planets for reasons known only to themselves. It is just possible that one or two of them actually managed to read some of the text (and here I am perhaps crediting them with a little more ability than they actually have) and were freaked out by what they read. If that was the case then I am very pleased to know I had that cause and effect! Which brings me to what I was going to say about ten minutes ago. There are about thirty three episodes of my space story left to post. These would of course been posted on between2planets had msn not taken umbrage to it. I propose therefore to post the remaining episodes here, for the benefit of the one or two of you out there who were trying to follow it. I think it would be a shame not to finish it after all the hard work I have put in. When it is done I will return to "A Step in the Dark", in case anyone is also reading that. So far as I am concerned all those geeks, freaks and weak leaks at msn can go and boil their heads. XXVickyXX

MSN Have done it again.

2007-08-22T19:29:00.000+01:00

Not content with threatening me the useless swine at msn have allowed some other person to get into my space and mess things up so that I am not able to get in myself. I deleted all the photographs - all of them not just the ones that they ordered me to but every one of them so they have no reason to close me down. If anyone else can get in and view between2planets I'd be very pleased to know how they did it.............. XXVickyXX

Episode 8.

2007-08-07T19:44:00.000+01:00

A short while before midnight the grey clouds which had been massing along the ramparts of the valley began to release their burden of rain. As the wind freshened and moved a point or two around the compass, it fell in a solid torrent. Heavy as leaden shot it poured down for the rest of that night and was still falling heavily by the morning.

……………….

In her own house Maah grunted with satisfaction as she peered into the darkness beyond the window. Three nights off full moon and she had detected a change in the weather. The morning would be wet, then almost certainly a very warm afternoon would follow. There would be a thunderstorm too before long she knew. Probably the night before the full moon. Good! It would clear the air a bit, lay the dust and bring a new freshness to everything. She would have to be content with the heavy rain for now.

She turned back to her seat in the fireplace with a contented sigh. Not bothering for once, to open the door in the bookcase and climb the ladder into sleeping room she drew a smoky remnant of shawl around herself and a few moments later was fast asleep in the chair.

…………………..

Maah's house was unlike any other in the village. Square and sturdy it squatted comfortably amid riotously and apparently completely untended gardens. Surrounding it all, a shallow ditch and an overgrow thickthorn hedge defended the perimeter stoutly. Built from ham-and-grey coloured stone, the house had disturbing and somehow vaguely unnatural structural peculiarities. The absence of windows or doors on the northern side and the massive chimney which dominated the centre of the broad thatched roof were the most noticeable. There were two hexagonal chimney pots on the top of the stone stack, one taller than its companion to assist the dispersal of smoke. Made from dark grey riverbank clay, the pots were bleached almost white on one side and soot stained and black in the lee of the prevailing winds.

For convenience the house had two fireplaces. A cavernous, yawning room sized opening in the living room where Maah now slept and where she spent most of her time when she was indoors and an armour-bright polished "Bountiful" stove, on its hearth of dark green tiles in the little used and somewhat dusty Other Room.

While the fire in the ‘Bountiful’ was rarely lit the fire beside which Maah now slept had only the day before been cleaned out and relit after burning non-stop for what seemed like a hundred years.

Beneath a neat, widely overhanging thatch the walls of the house bulged slightly in the middle giving it a faintly comical, fat and full-up look. There were massive quoins of yellow sandstone foursquare on the corners and in the centre of the south side ornately carved stonework decorated the frame and head of the black painted front door. Tall narrow windows set deep in the thick stone walls on either side perfectly balanced and contrasted the dark door and the thousands of tiny panes of glass, each a slightly different hue to the other winked and sparkled with an inner light. Smaller, squarer, deeply set windows allowed the light of sunrise and sunset into the rooms at either end.

There was a worn stone path to the doorway in the middle. Straight as an arrow it ran from black iron gate to doorstep, bordered on both sides by untidy bushes of lavender and sage.

Wy hesitated at the gate. She stood for a moment wondering if she had arrived too early. Sunset, Maah had said. Come and see me at sunset! Well it wasn't dark yet but further down the valley a washed out orange smudge of colour dirtied indistinctly the lower edges of the evening sky. Like a scrap of faded headscarf drooping forgotten on a washing line it’s hue diminished into greyness as she watched it. Locally the villagers would say it was only the shake of an old dishcloth away from nightfall.

She lifted the latch and gave it a shove. The gate was not locked.......... Was it? No, it moved very slightly, curved grooves in the path indicating the extent of it's swing. Of course! Lift and push at the same time! She should have known! Lift and push!

There was no lock or bolt or chain anywhere visible but the gate did not give more than a thumb for all Wy's determined efforts.

Perhaps, No! That wasn't it. It did not open the other way. What was it then...............

“Hello Wy!” Maah's voice from somewhere close. The gate opened smoothly. No lift or shove. No effort at all. A smooth swing which didn't even scrape the path above the deeply cut scratches.

“I couldn’t get the gate open,” exclaimed Wy. “There must have been something stuck in it, a stone or something in the way............................”

Maah looked at her and grinned.

“Gate'll let no-one through ‘les I tell it to!” she said. “One of my little safety things Wy, for these ‘r strange times an' you don’t know who might be about!”

“Oh! How do you tell it to?”

“Well y’ never know, Wy!” replied Maah, carefully avoiding answering the question “Always got t’ be on y’r guard, wary like..........…..’aven’t you…........ um, you’ll soon learn, I know!”

“Am I too soon? I........................”

“Too soon? No, no! ‘S’ all right! Come in! Come in!” She made a sweeping, bowing gesture, stepping aside in the doorway to let Wy through.

“Is all well?” she enquired cautiously

“Is all............all what well, Maah?” Wy asked.

“Aah, my dear. ‘Tis only a sayin’ of mine, you know. Take no heed f’ now. But when I asks agen if all is well, then you must answer me. You mus’ say “All is well!” if ‘tis and if ‘tis not, then “Nay!” Then I'll know!”

She looked at Wy quizzically, measuring her reaction to the convoluted answer.

“Is all well?” she asked again after some moments.

“Errrrrrr...............all w... All is well, Maah!”

“Then all things are well! We will go!”

………………….

Episode 7.

2007-07-31T21:20:00.000+01:00

Now Maah was not a bit like you imagined her to be, or rather she was exactly like it, at first glance. By you or I at any rate, for the fear and suspicion, the hostilility to strangeness is embedded and enmeshed in the nature of us all, so that, when we look at such as Maah we cannot see beyond her glamour, her mask, her projected disguise cloaked in enigma’s dark mirror reflecting back into our own eyes the worst aspects of ourselves.

She could appear in any number of guises - or none - depending upon the time of day, the person, situation or phase of the moon. Small children whispered and shivered and hid while some of the older ones taunted or called out rude names from a safe distance, when they thought she couldn’t hear them, never wondering why, when they walked home later, their feet became sore and uncomfortable from encounters with sharp pebbles which had somehow got into their shoes. Folk for the most part, kept careful distance, knowing only too well their place and hers in the overall scheme of things. Those who consulted her, and there were many, did so with an inbred, wary courtesy. Attentive and eager to listen to her when she spoke and grateful for her imparted wisdom. And those who were more familiar or more knowledgeable, paid her all due repects.

Nobody would have called Maah beautiful. Not even attractive probably, but there was an indefinable beauty and attraction, none the less. Nor would they easily have guessed her age, for Maah seemed comfortable and content to be at an age somewhere between twenty five and fifty without ever having to suffer the demands of husband or children to take their share of her time and patience. Fifty five at the very most, you’d say, if you saw her in the marketplace on an early summers morning as you watched carefully for her to walk across the street.

Oh, but hasn’t she lived in that house of hers for years and years and years, you ask! Don’t you remember how the time goes? Seven or eight winters ago it must have been, when shepherd Tupp lost sheep all over the place and couldn't get to them because of the depth of the snow. Maah helped him then, didn't she? Helped Tupp to find the sheep, well most of them, in spite of those tremendous drifts. She wore the same coat then as she has on now, didn’t she? And wasn’t everything else about her exactly the same. Old? Well she looked much older then, didn’t she, that winter? Gasping for breath from the effort of walking through waist high snow, bent and wrinkled and filthy from the dragging and the carrying of some many sheep. She looked much more than twenty five or fifty then. More like sixty five or seventy at least.

Only those who knew her better and they were few, yes, very few, remembered Maah from their younger days, had an image of her from a different time and tried to remember, or forget, depending upon their nature, how her strong hands and reassuring, calming voice had delivered them. Wise woman and midwife, Maah was the very first and the very last person most of them would ever see in their world.

…………………..

Wy shivered as she considered the situation. She gazed up and down the riverbank, suddenly seeing nothing she recognised at all. Carelessly she picked up her bag and was startled for a moment by its weight. Then she remembered her collection of stones and the purple and white hemisphere of cabbage Maah had given her. Hurriedly she emptied the bag onto the grass. How bright and valuable those smooth fragments of quartz had appeared when they lay fresh and shiny wet at the edge of the water. How precious those agates, those tigers’ eyes seemed when she’d found them. Now they were dull and lifeless, the same as ordinary garden stones. Dead! Now there seemed little point in carrying them home.

She replaced the cabbage and the crumpled bit of paper holding the stuck together sweet things. She had no desire to taste any more of those today either but thought she would keep them anyway, just in case. Mechanically she shouldered the bag, walked to the edge of the grass, by the side of the path where the River’s song faded, into the green shade of the willows to make her way home.

…………………..

The watermill cottage that Wy lived in had, she thought, been built by her father, or grandfather, a long time ago. At least she remembered her mother telling her as much. The walls were of squarely cut locally quarried stone and sloped slightly inwards from ground to eaves on the outside. Its windows were small and set deep within the thickness of these walls. Heavy wooden shutters could be closed over the windows on the outside and on the inside lighter, more decorative ones took the place of any hanging curtains. Unlike similar cottages in High Valley Wy’s had for reasons unknown to her a larger than normal sized roof. Wy could stand upright for nearly twice the width of her outstretched arms under the entire length of it. She was fortunate too in that directly beneath the thatch the rafters were lined with tightly fitting cedar boards. There were two separate rooms in the attic, one the sleeping room with three sides of the stone chimney in it and on the other side of the chimney a small storeroom with a tiny circular cobweb covered window in the gable at the end. The divisions made from sweet smelling cedar, larch and sycamore boards cut at her fathers sawmill when the house was built. Rather than a staircase, which would have taken up too much room, Wy’s cottage, like most others in the village, had an opening in the ceiling of the alcove to one side of the fireplace with a sturdy ash and hazel ladder protruding through the hole.

That she had decided to go on living in the house alone after her mothers death was not considered unusual by the people in the village, only that it was uncommon for one so young to do so. There were those who commented that the seventeen year old with her small bit of land and house would make a very good wife for some lucky man when the time came. They waited eagerly to discover who it would be. But one or two other people suggested that she would be better off giving up the house rather than go on living there alone.

“Doesn't it have unpleasant memories for you?” they would ask her slyly, thinking how much nicer the cottage could be if they lived there instead of her. Why ever don't you move out and go and live with your sister and her husband. They’ve got plenty of room, even with that small child of theirs. Then you could look after it for them in the evenings and your sister could take up her job again.

Others tried, half heartedly it is true, to “fix her up with a nice young man”, But the two or was it three, sorry looking, sheepish individuals who eventually appeared came nowhere near Wy's expectations. But then she wasn't really looking for a husband in any case! In the end she made arrangements of her own. Now her garden was tended by Neet, the woman who lived in a cottage across the lane. A simple arrangement without fuss or bother or odd, avaricious men drooling in her gateway. Just Wy's neighbour who found it a simple matter to tend her land along with her own.

And as for friendship, well now it looked as though she had a friend in Maah.

…………….

The rest of the day passed Wy by completely and by nightfall she still sat limply in the armchair by the cold ashes of a long gone out stove. Eventually she climbed the ladder and fell into bed not bothering to take off her everyday clothes. For the first time in ages she slept the night through.

Episode 6

2007-07-24T21:44:00.000+01:00

She looked hard at Wy when she said this, stressing the “I” as if looking for approval.

“Related…………… Maah?”

“Umm! I ‘spect I'm sort of.........” she considered the situation for a moment,.......... “Um, auntie or somethin’ t’ you..............yes Auntie, I s’pec’…….well................”

“Oh….. I…….didn’t know!” Wy was taken aback for a moment. Maah, the wise woman, her aunt!

“Well it looks like it” Maah went on,“My grandfather’s brother.... no wait! Great grandfathers I think it must ‘ave been, was your mother’s mothers father. Errrrr, or was it... well.......... anyway, somethin’ like that. It was some time ago anyway an’ me memory ‘s not what it used t’ be. But I can recall, somewhere at home I've got it written down, a list, sort of, along wi’ a lot o’ other stuff! Drawin’s an’ such like, some sort o’ tree with the brother and sister an’ relative branches on it. Done in colour, it is! An’ very pretty too! Lot o’stuff in a box sayin’’oo’s related t’’oo but, thinkin’ about it, I ‘aven’t looked at ‘em for years! They mus’ be packed away upstairs or in the other room somewhere. Theres boxes full of things in that room. The mother knows what!”

She stared into space, her expression thoughtful, for a moment.

“Tell y’ what” she continued after a while, “come an’ see me an’ I'll try an’ remember where they is............ Get ‘em out an’ show ‘em you!”

“Oh...............I...............we……..”

“’Long wi’ some o’ they recipes f’ candied fruits!”

She sniffed violently then stared at the river.

“Can’t make out what your mother was doing though! So far away from home, wrong side of the river an’ all. Strange for her to be over there. Did she know anyone over the other side, do you know?”

“There was no-one I ever heard of,” replied Wy quietly “She had no relatives there as far as I know. If she knew anyone she kept quiet about it but Mum wasn't like that with me. I know she would have told me....….. she……. ”

Cold fingers of apprehension tugged at Wy's heart. Was there something important her mother hadn’t told her, she wondered.

“I thought not!” Maah said quietly “Still, you won’t mention to Sy that I've spoken to you or anything will you? Not just yet at any rate. That Khuoc! He loves to interfere, make trouble for me. He doesn’t like me you know!”

She spat in the general direction of the river. “Drunkard!” The globule of spittle missing narrowly its intended target and splashed instead onto the surface of the water where it formed a huge air bubble which burst with an audible plop and dissolved.

“I used t’ come here a lot when I was younger. Jus’ like you do now! Over there.....” she pointed towards the bank further upstream where a row of bent willow branches dangled their bony fingers in the water “I used t’ go swimmin’ with the rest of them! Swimmin’! Yes, oh dear me that was a long time ago! Them trees were only little ‘uns then, most of ‘em at any rate!”

“Maah?”

“Mmmmm?” Maah seemed lost in thought for a moment.

“How long does it take for a willow tree to grow?”

“How.......... oh well! S’pose they get all they need jus’ ‘ere. ‘nuff water and sunshine for ‘em! Muck out o’ th’ forest t’ feed their roots. They ‘ont take long t’ grow! Not too long! Jus’ a year or two I s’pose!”

“An’ a little longer to explain ‘ow t’ anyone that asks!” Maah added knowingly. “But I ‘spec’ I’ll be a’goin now. Leave you t’ y’ daydreamin’. Come an’ see me on the morrow. In th’ evenin’. Sunset! That ‘ud be th’ best time t’ come! An’ I’ll get out them pappers an’ things, jus like I said, them drawin’s………. if y’ like......t’ show t’ you........”

She trailed off into silence, peering at Wy uncertainly.

“Y’ will, won’t you

“Y-yes Maah!”

“Good girl! I look forward to it! Theres half of that cabbage if you want it. Don’t cook it too long, jus’ boil it through”

She stuffed one mauve hemisphere into her shoulder bag, leaving the other half lying on the ground.

“Sorry to ‘ave disturbed you. All things be well!”

Maah stood up suddenly, “Come out t’ see about a cat, really. Now I shall ‘ave t’ do that on th’ way ‘ome” She slung her bag over her shoulder and without more ado, started back the way she had come her feet crashing noisily on the loose gravel.

She was out of sight long before Wy had gathered her thoughts enough to ask the old woman anything else.

…………………….

A green willow branch cast its thin shadow. Sunlight shifted, shrank and the earth revolved. The river gurgled and sang the half remembered words of a song from Wy’s childhood. It sang her back to the the place in the dream where she was before Maah came along and broke the spell. The dream with the half heard words woven into the background. The dream she had dreamed so many times before, and in the end, it seemed as if the voice of the River sang those words to her and her alone.

“…..all of your life, Wy…….”

And the green willow branch dipped and dripped and trailed in the water, describing short arcs and, now and then, a shorter, sharper, desperately lunging right angle. It inscribed names and dates on the surface of the water in shapes and sigils which were obliterated almost before they were written, notes from ages past in a language man could no longer read, signatures of the famous and infamous, long forgotten, initials and marks from days of old. But the Rivers song remained the same, though too long in its entirety to be often repeated, formed by sounds only those who knew how to listen could hear.

From its favourite perch above the bank the kingfisher demonstrated its perfect diving technique again, the patterns of its passing interweaving and embroidering sunlight and shadow, forest and river, the warp and weft which made up the fabric of the spell.

............................

The shadows were lengthening by the time Wy decided to go home. She felt strangely unsettled, the recipient of disturbing new knowledge, like a passerby inadvertently overhearing a secret whispered between two lovers. She put the sweet things and the cut off half of cabbage which Maah had left her into her own bag with one or two of the pebbles she’d collected and which looked somehow very ordinary now.

Surely there was something else? Didn’t she have something else to do? She gazed uncertainly about on the grass where she had been lying. Disturbed gravel, the flattened foliage and bent grass stems where Maah had sat revealed nothing to her but for some reason she was certain there was something missing.

A sense of disappointment filled her. A feeling of loss, and it had been Maah who had brought it! Maah with her silly talk and sticky sweet things and .……… and that cabbage! Maah! Coldly Wy considered the situation. How had Maah suddenly appeared like that, out of nowhere? Wy knew she should have heard the crunch of her feet on the gravel bank long before she actually did. Before the figure of Maah came into view. Had she really been so deep into the daydream that she had not heard her approach? She had felt sleepy it was true but that was nothing new to her or for the place by the river. What was it Maah had said? “The better the place the better the daydream” The more she thought about it the more convinced she became that somehow Maah had arranged it all. The meeting. Everything. Nobody would take this path for a short cut to anywhere because it only went to the end of the stony bank where the little river joined the big one and the yellow flag irises grew precariously clinging to a shifting bank of mud. That was the furthest point of it. You wouldn’t go that way to get anywhere else. What could she have meant, Wy wondered. Then with a shiver of excited realisation she knew that Maah had been there all along. Not just that afternoon but always. And when she counted and compared, full moon with new moon, harvest with autumn, winter with spring and so on, she began to remember Maahs presence iin her life more and more, indistinct and half seen but always there like a shadow in the background, just out of reach.

She looked around again, saw nothing new and was ready to go and when the voices in the river sang to her again “….all of your life, Wy…….” she, in her distressed state could not hear the words of the song.

Episode 5.

2007-07-22T21:38:00.000+01:00

A large mauve cabbage rolled out of the shopping bag. Determined to escape from the stuffy confines it rolled crookedly past Maah's feet and across the shingle in the direction of the river.

“Stop!”

Maah's word of command snapped like a horsewhip. At the edge of the shingle ridge the purple cabbage froze.

Satisfied, Maah continued her rummage. “In here somewhere I’ve some sweetthings, jus’ made this mornin’. I ‘spec’ you’d like a piece?” Maah proffered the bag.

There were angular bits of pale saffron inside. Shards and slivers of green angelica, springs, beads and baubles of honeyed crabapple, mauve hemispheres of dessicated damson, sweet and flowery, succulent things.

Still intrigued by Maah's trick with the cabbage, Wy was uncertain as to which sweet to have. Her fingers slipped from brown to green to yellow and white and back again. Finally, more by accident than design, she drew out a long teardrop shaped yellow piece.

“’S my favourite too! Lemmon!” exclaimed Maah grinning.

The sweet was sort of lemmony, Wy thought when she first tasted it, but then there was a hint of flowers and buds to it as well, all sorts of things. Sweet, sour, bitter flower! Sour sweet, good to eat! Childrens doggerel in her head……

Misleading!

Wasn’t that.......................? There was something else in the taste as well. A sort of…….. what was it? Sweetness and sadness, bitterness and beauty, mixed and muddled, melted together in her mouth. Distance and indefinable shapes, shadows and ……….. and longing. Saliva ran warm and ………….

Misleading! Peculiar! She almost felt…… light headed.

She watched amazed as the cabbage rolled slowly across the bank. Up the gravely slope towards Maah's open hand.

Maah grinned at her, brown teeth and spaces where browner teeth had been.

”Just like a mans’ brain, you know, th’ inside o’ this cabbage!” she exclaimed obscurely.

“’Nother piece?”

Casually, carefully, she reoffered the bag.

Wy’s second bit of Maah's home made sweets, the square green piece she’d fumbled in the bag for the first time, was sharp and bitter inside its coating of sugar. Numbing fluid filled her mouth, dried her saliva, caught her breath.

She gulped and gasped but could not spit it out.

She saw the long narrow knife in Maahs hand in the same instant as she thought she was choking.

“Never wastes a good design, doesn’t the mother!” said Maah dramatically, cutting the purple cabbage carefully in half.

“Look! You see! Just like a mans’ brain to look at!” she indicated the cabbages mauve and white contorted convolutions.

Somehow Wy managed to swallow the lump of candied angelic

She gulped furiously and felt it slide heavily, like a stick of dry firewood, slowly down her throat.

“Jellica! Grew it myself. Do you know it takes years an’ years f’ th’ plant t’ become properly established, then you can’t get rid of th’ thing! Typical weed. No good for nothing but priceless and invaluable all th’ same!”

“Um.................................!”

“But the fruit flavoured stuff always goes better. Lemmon ‘n orange flavours, you know”

Wy nodded. The effects of the first piece overshadowed by the second.

“ ‘nother bit?” Maah rustled the bag in front of Wy’s face.

“It’s very good of you Maah!”

“Think nothin’ of it, Wy” Maah replied “It costs me very little t’ make, nothin’ in fac’ an’ anyway I don’t make it purposely t’ sell. I make it f’ th’ enjoyment of it, then I enjoys it more when I do sell a bit, but tha’s not my reason for……”

She broke off suddenly. “Why don’t you come and see me and I'll show you ‘ow t’make some f’ y’self. Come this afternoo........ No ! Wait a minute......... evening would be better. You can come an’ see me one evening soon can’t you?”

“Wuh!...................”

“Yes, course you can! It ‘ull do me good to have someone as young as you to talk to! Be good for you too. I c’n show you ‘ow t’ make all sorts o’ sweet things then!”

“Alright...............”

“Good girl! I’ll look forward to it. Your poor mother used to come and see me sometimes, you know!”

“Mother did?”

“She did, yes! Lots of times, well off and on, not regularly but, well we had some things in common you see..........................”

Maah's voice trailed off.

“We have a common ancestor Wy, a relative, I s’pose you might call it” she announced after a pause.

“Who?” asked Wy cautiously. “Do I.........did I..............would I know him?”

“Y’ may ‘ave but I don’t ‘spect so Wy. He was about here along time ago. Somewhere about.............. but he............I......... s’pose your mother never told you anything..........................?”

“Mother didn’t tell me about any relatives at all. I didn’t think I had any, thought I was alone apart from my sister and she’s…….. older than I am and not like me at all!”

“Ah yes! Sy!” Maah sniffed. “And now she is with that waster Khuoc.........Huh! And she ‘as ‘is child too! But tha’s not it, Wy. Not ‘zacly. But I do think that perhaps I am related to you!”

Episode 4.

2007-07-19T22:03:00.000+01:00

She wriggled again, distracted by the bobbing movement of the kingfisher on its bough, so close she could make out every perfectly preened feather of it, peer almost, into the blackness at the centre of its unblinking eye.

A deep voice and a high voice contrasted for a moment, the remnants of a current whose creation caused the floating leaf to tremble, a bubble to rise and break and kill the ripple, set free the vapour and save the day. Like a shred of semi-transparent ribbon the remnants of the ripple lay smoothly, delicately, along the surface of the water. Tenuously it twisted, taking a touch of taupe and a tickle of tansy from a shadows, the reflection of a frond, as delicate an image as an exact reversal of its former self.

And the voice of the river overcame the miscreant, the mendicant, the minstrel and the miser as it always did. There is no part of me which can be separated, it sang. Every part of me is a part of the whole, for I am the River, the origin of the life in all things……………. Listen!

Listen!

Wy wriggled again, and without realizing she was doing so, without meaning to, she began to take notice of the words which the River sang to her. Languidly, effortlessly, on the threshold of the daydream again, she lay, a murmur, a moment, a mere heartbeat away from knowing, from being told everything.

Because she might know all, in time, if only she would listen.

Know the reason behind each and every one of her dreams.

For I am the River, the origin and the life in all things………….

Listen!

Then the discordant crunch of footsteps on the shingle fragmented and fractured the flow of the River’s song..

“Wonderful day isn’t it!” a voice called. “Jus’ right for sittin’ an’ doin’ nothin! For daydreamin!”

Stones shifted and pebbles tumbled. The chord, broken now, wavered and faded with dissonance, the melody, interrupted, mistook the theme.

Wy struggled to sit up.

“Well....................I.............”

She was lost for words for a moment, her peace disturbed, her secret place discovered.

“It is Wy, isn’t it?” the woman asked.

She was dressed in a long greenish grey full length dress under a shabby multicoloured patchwork coat. Buttonless and baggy, the coat might have been very colourful once, now the overall sandy brown and grey arrangement of irregular sized woven squares conveyed somehow the impression of a bloated fish. The coat was kept together about halfway down by knotted loop of frayed and rather greasy string.

Wy stared at the intruder with alarm.

She carried a shapeless bag carelessly over one shoulder. A longer piece of similar string kept the bag tied closed and at the same time served as a long, looping, diagonal handle.

“This is a very good place to lie and think isn’t it!” she said. “Do you know, I used to come here quite often when I was a girl. Now I like to come this way home and remember those times. ‘Tis out of my way I know but I like a walk along her, down this way, when the weathers fine”

The woman's words tumbled from her mouth like wild birds escaping, the movement of their wings mingling and merging with the sounds of the river.

She gazed at Wy carefully

“I don’t mean to interrupt..............be on me way again in an ‘eartbeat or two……..”

“Theres no need” said the girl, Wy. “I was almost asleep before you came along but now................................”

“’Tis this heat” the old woman nodded, “Tha’s what makes you so daydreamy! An’ th’ better th’ place, then th’ better th’ daydream, hmmmm, don’t you think?”

“Well….. I often come here when I've nothing else to do” offered Wy. “When its not raining anyway”

“You shouldn’t let a bit of rain bother you!” Maah informed her. “This time o’ th’ year ‘tis warm any’ow. You’d dry out again easily, long afore y’ got home!”

“I was going to the market,” Wy began. “I meant to but then I…………..”

“Then you thought, No, I’ll jus’ lie ‘ere by the river an’ let things go by for a while? Hmmmm? Jus’ let things ‘appen on their own? I know! The River sort of encourages you to do that, doesn’t it?”

“Well…………”

“Nothin' wrong with letting it take it’s course, Wy!” said Maah gruffly “Does you good sometimes, to think about things for a bit. Gets ‘em straightened out in your head, you know!”

She lowered her bag carefully then, selecting a likely spot, sat slowly and ponderously on the edge of the shingle. With a sigh she leaned into the bank of greenery like an abandoned scarecrow. Grasses seethed and rattled with impatience, bursting seedheads spilled their wealth onto her straggling grey hair, all over the shoulders of the patchwork coat.

“Odd ‘ow it ‘appens though,” Maah continued after a while. “’Alf your life you spend waitin’ for somethin’ to ‘appen, an’ th’ other ‘alf wishin’ they ‘adn’t after they’ve did!”

She sniffed loudly to add emphasis, then added craftily,

“But it makes you wonder doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it............What does?” Wy asked, thoroughly confused.

“All of this!” said Maah expansively, turning her head and looking round. “Theres no-one who could buy or sell this to you. No market trader, dealer or horse thief! 'Tis free! Free and plentiful for all of us! Th’ Mothers bounty, yes, free an’ plentiful for all of us”

She fumbled in her bag. “There is some................... ah! No!................... some nugget here if I can find it. Ohhh.........................I am sure there is some here somewhere about…..”

episode 3

2007-07-15T20:33:00.000+01:00

The midday sun burned brightly in Wy’s flame coloured hair, smouldering and shifting as she moved, slowly bending her forearm across her eyes to shade out its brightness.

She sighed. Boredom and the fatigue of sadness and a directionless life burdened her heavily. The effort of daydreaming itself was almost too much trouble, yet, unbidden still, behind her eyes, the disjointed streams of thought pictures came and went endlessly, on and on in a steady procession.

Two paces away in the shallows of the river, a fishing boat in perfect miniature sailed slowly, its hull a curling leaf almost as long as your foot, with rigging of spiderweb and sails of captured flying thistledown. Slowly it tacked across the changing current, caught a breeze of different air from somewhere and bore away against the flow. After many days of travelling from higher up in the forest it knew at that last that soon, anytime now, it would reach it’s destination. Resolutely it sliced through a sharp edged ripple, plotted a new course in an instant then turned resolutely away from the land. Times pendulum hung still for a moment, silent and unmoved by emotions, unmarked by events, unchanged by quaint fashion or custom, motionless at the bottom of its arc before sweeping upwards and outwards again.

Two dragonflies a hand’s span in length at least, their impossible, peacock colours flashing, quivered briefly, above the sprawling figure. Patience and Wait, the River whispered. The frail butterfly will unfold its wings in time. All things will come to pass when they are ready. Softly it sang and a ripple reflected the refrain, shadows on sand and glittering prisms, darkening as a dimple deepened, widened and was gone. Translucently invisible the music hovered, unhindered by the uneven flow of the dream, borrowing the swirl from a cloud of midges, stealing, concealing, revealing the razor sharp edged daggers of sunlight.

………………….

Wy sighed again. Steadily a stone the size of a hens’egg shifted somewhere beneath her, moving heavily with the gentle grate and grind of settling gravel. Discomforts discontented fingers jabbed at her vertebrae. Now, very soon, she knew she would have to move.

In a little while. Plenty of time yet! she thought. No need to get up, there is nowhere else you have to go.

The dragonflies hovered, wings irridescent in the sunshine, immobile in the still air less than an arms length away.

Behind her and fading away into the distance to her right, the blue black bulk of the cliff face loomed hazily. In irregular steps and tiers it rose until at last it’s top was hidden by a rounded mass projecting outwards like stubbornly jutting chin. The villages of Low Valley and High Valley it divided though both were linked and joined by steps and twisting paths and in many other ways.

Wy arched her back, hoping the offending pebble would move deeper into the shingle but her movements only caused further discomfort as other, similar stones moved around beneath her.

Oh the aggravation of it all! Next time, tomorrow, Wy said to herself, I will bring a bit of blanket to lie on and mother’s old straw hat to keep the sun off my face. And a bottle of something cool to drink as well.

She wriggled again, moving onto her side for a moment, uncomfortable and unsettled yet reluctant to get up. The offending finger of stone now prodded her insistently, a dull, unforgiving point of pressure against her hip.

She turned onto her back again, throwing her left arm across her face to hide her daydreams from the bright, questing eyes of the sun which would surely, if it were allowed to glimpse them, fade them rapidly to insignificance.

She twisted her shoulders, arched her back but still the hardness, the persistant discomfort lingered.

One voice in the river sang a greeting to her, a second caught an echo of it and carried it on a semitone. A third intoned with a chorus where the others had left it, and Wy, half listening, half knowing, not yet understanding, heard only her mothers soft tongue whispering her a warning.

“……all of your life, Wy…………”

One voice in the River.

The same song, it would have her believe, that it had always sung since time began. The same words and the same song when it was but a mere trickle, a sliver of chilled water won by the sun from the melting ice in the valleys of the mountains which existed before the seeds of the forest were set. The same song with variations and verses for the snowmelts of successive springs after the hard black frosts of winter after winter, the slack tides of summer before the outpourings of autumn, over and over and over again while the valley was formed. Chorus and counterpoint for the dead and the living, bass and contralto and all the tiny, inseperable notes in between.

‘I am the narrator, the historian,’ so sang the River, ‘the storyteller, the minstrel, the keeper of all knowledge and legends, and these are some of the words that I sing:’

“…..all of your life, Wy…..……”

‘Remember these words and disregard all others’

……………………

Episode 2

2007-07-13T20:46:00.000+01:00

There is a quiet place along the River, away from the noise and bustle of V’lee’s market day crowds. A tranquil, secretive place where ancient unpollarded willows lean broken boughed and crookedly, trailing their bleached white bony knuckled thumbs gently in the River’s murmuring and mumbling waters. Their intention, it seems, is to hinder and catch the fragrant, shrimp filled, floating drifts of weed and nothing else, for that, it is said, quite wrongly is the entire purpose and use, of a willow tree.

It is an exuberantly overgrown long isthmus of a place, built up by the rubbish of rock brought down by the lesser river and the ever changing currents on the bend of the greater River itself. In essence, a narrow, crooked bank of watersculpted sand and shingle and perfectly shaped, softly riversmoothed stones.

A jungle of flowering herbs and grasses luxuriates there, a lush and tangled, uncared for garden sprouting and overhanging the broad sweep of water where the great River hesitates, slows and lingers, swirling and mumbling around the bulging bank of black rocks on the bend, mixing and meandering with the darker, heavier water of the lesser river which emerges from the forest behind the village of High Valley and plunges in an endlessly tumbling waterfall to the village of Low Valley below.

Pale skeletal shapes of discarded driftwood lie entangled with the rubbish of the river, bones barkless and bleached to an almost transparent grey paleness, tossed and tumbled, smoothly worn by their passage through time and tide.

And just as, for reasons of it’s own, the river broadens its reach and lessenes the rate of its many currents here, so, to the casual observer it seems, the passage of time also relaxes and slows.

……………………

The air lay still and heavily immobile along the river, languid and heady with humidity and sodden into lethargy with the sickly sweet scents of lush growing things. There were songs in the stillness and in the movement of the River that day, as there were everyday, for those who could hear them. Voices and music in notes and chords as yet unwritten, vibrant in a language like rich, liquid laughter, singing for the very joy of living.

…………………..

Born of the mud at the end of a rainbow the kingfisher dived, flashing turquoise and orange in an exactly measured, infinitely calculated splash. The river added echoes of silver and gold to its ripples. Circles of sunlight crossed and recrossed the kingfisher’s target, disturbed currents intermingled, a latticework of wavelets and troughs splashed and remeshed methodically. Time itself, it seemed, stood quite still while the River gurgled and giggled, its waters a deeply colourless, invisible riddles of rills and eddies chattering over boulders and gravelbedded pebbles and hummocky, waterweed forested mounds.

There was a haughty coolness within the entity that was the River, a reservation and aloofness for those who did not know it, yet a warmth and a waiting, for those who did, a holding of breath, a call for quiet, and a time for listening to the songs it would sing.

Breathe deeply in the sunshine as the song suggests to you, absorb the midday richness of a place very close at hand, half a step only away, yet as distant and unreachable as a newly forgotten dream. Close your eyes, breathe slowly and deeply, and soon you will discover an awareness and a sense of wellbeing previously perhaps unknown. Listen carefully with your ears and your heart finely tuned and you will learn to hear the words the River sings. And though you may not understand them, at first, they are the ballads which recount the stories and histories of many strange peoples and the tale of a mystery, the hint of hidden treasure, a promise and a legacy as old as time itself.

Take my hand and come away with me, beyond the ragged grass at the River’s edge where the stony soil crumbles and tumbles and stains to grey the swirling water, to the shingle banks and mounded stones that shape the ripples and write the songs which the River sings.

Lie as close as you can to the water. Bury your face and feet and fingers in the damp pebbles. The rank, aromatic secrets are there for the scenting, there for the tasting, there for the hearing…….

Close your eyes if you have not already done so.............

…….and if you are very lucky, or very clever, you may catch a glimpse of the best kept secret of all. The best kept secret that is part of the dream.

……………………..

The branch bowed elastically with the weight of the kingfisher’s return, stickleback glistening, flexing back and forth, a gleaming silver oval blade bisected by a dark blue beak.

Casually but carefully the bird surveyed the scene. It was a creature which passed through the realms of air and of water as easily and as often as the transition between the shades of night and day. And although it perceived that, somehow, today might be different, so far it appeared to be a day just like any other, a hot day in early midsummer, a day of peace and quiet, an nsignificant day, yet one at the very heart of of everything. A day which might never end, a day which, later on, the kingfisher wished in many ways had never started.

Carefully and cautiously he surveyed the scene, then, tossing his head rapidly from side to side he swallowed the stickleback bodily.

On a narrow strip of shingle between the waters edge and the tangled borders of wild mint and marjoram Wy lay daydreaming in the sunshine. By her right side a crumpled grey canvas bag gaped emptily open, its strappy handles encircling a collection of worn smooth coloured pebbles.

Riversmoothed fragments of ambarr and agate, vitrine and quartz, the pebbles lay carelessly jumbled together, all interest in them lost almost as soon as they had been gathered.

It was a dream she had dreamed many times before, so many times that she knew the sequences of events off by heart, a dream which, although repetetive and vivid had very little variation, a dream which always made her think, made her wonder, left her, when it ended, feeling bereft and empty and sad enough to cry.

It was a dream which had always been with her, a sleeping dream and a daydreaming dream, a dream which had, it seemed neither beginning nor end.

A Step in the Dark. (episode one)

2007-07-12T21:05:00.000+01:00

A Step in the Dark.

Chapter 1.

Wherever you open this book there does the story begin. One page from the back or one page from the front, it makes no difference. The words go on and the tale is never ending. And though some of the pages of the book might be torn or missing, stolen by plagiarists, or lost through carelessness, others have been discovered to replace them, so that now there are perhaps a score or more than there were originally. Some brought from different sources, some written down hurriedly by someone else, scrawled in a different hand or related in an unfamiliar tongue to a hired scribe whose disinterest was apparent but who wrote down what he was told to nonetheless. It will be, and is, the same saga spoken in another way, narrated by people whose accents differ, who had, or have, other interests or points of view. It goes on, never ending, the same cycle looping round and round. Only the characters themselves, in their turn, come and go, and as they move across the pages they become not only the tale itself but the readers and the writers of it, the narrators as well as the patiently listening audience. They move steadily, delving deeper, unfolding and elaborating, weaving the pictures and the patterns, the entangled, twisted threads which bind loosely the material of the scheme, going on and on until wearinesses weight slows them, steadies them and stills them, stealing their strength and their will to venture further. Then tiredness urges rest, suggests slumber, in a way which is impossible to resist. And when you too succumb to sleep, as you undoubtedly will, then all immediately becomes a mirage, a dream and an illusion in the exact instant that slumber overtakes you. Then the reality of the table, the chair, the hard, unswept floor, will all pass in the droop of an eyelid, the sigh and the sough of your slowing breath. Then all will become both thankfully forgotten and vividly remembered, until, sleeping or waking are one and the same. Because our tale has no beginning and no ending, save for convenience, and then only to lie lightly along the rim of the wheel that marks the passing of the seasons, which pass regardless anyway.

And this time, for a change, even in the shade of the forest we are delirious from the heat, for the season is summer. Which straight away brings us to the very first question:

How good is your magic?

Are you the master of it?

Or do you allow it to rule you?

Read this book and surprise yourself!

(From an advertising leaflet for the book ‘A Beginners Guide to Spells and Spelling’)

At this beginning there is the story of a girl growing up in a world rather unlike our own. A world where natural magic, whatever that might be, really does work and is used by certain people every day of their lives. The benefits of that magic are accepted by everyone thought not all of them use it directly, preferring to appoint others to act for them instead. And at this beginning, as at all the others, it is the story of a river and the water in that river and all the little streams, rivulets and tributaries which make a contribution to its strength and stature. In fact all the water everywhere in this world is in some way involved, although it is hard perhaps, at first, to see quite how that might be.

Eddy and Ripple, Trickle and Splash

Lived together by a waterfall…………

They got wet and dry as time went by

But none of them minded at all, at all.

But none of them minded at all.

(Low Valley childrens’ doggerel)

And in this beginning, as in so many others, it is a love story, because a story such as this just has to be. Because love may overcome all adversity and hatred, if we only take the time to believe in it.

Take my hand and walk with me

Beneath the beeches where the moss is green

Where filtered sunlight through the branches

Paints your skin with a golden sheen.

(From “Take off your Ma’s old jumper” one of a series of traditional country songs)

And wherever you open the book you will find another beginning and another ending, a shorter puzzle in a longer mystery, a maze of possibilities and unanswered questions, because life would be so deathly dull if there was not a few mysteries in it.

I once watched a small piglet gulp and slurp its way through an entire bucket of swill.

Then crawl inside the bucket and fall asleep………..

(From a personal observation’)

Until you reach, quite quickly and unexpectedly, the next stage and find that too is merely one of many different beginnings. Then, before you start to fidget and yawn impatiently, you’ll find there is yet another piece of doggerel to chant before you go in search of the end: Mother Earth we seek in thee

A wondrous treasure where ‘ere it be

And when we find it, you and me

Will live for all eternity………

(Traditional Low Valley childrens’ rhyme)

Remember those lines for you will need them again before this short summer night has passed. Before the tides have turned and the round bellied merchant ships have set sail for far off places again. It is probably all the fault of those merchant ships really, or, more to the point, the fault of just one of them in particular. But we must go back to that later. There is time enough yet to apportion blame.

2007-07-10T20:19:00.000+01:00

COMING SOON! An Entirely New Novel by Vicky. COMING SOON! "A STEP IN THE DARK" COMING SOON TO THIS BLOG! DON'T MISS THE EXCITING OPENING EPISODE!!!!!!

2007-07-08T22:48:00.000+01:00

Coming soon to this blog........... "A STEP IN THE DARK" A full length, 2000 page novel in easy to read instalments! "A STEP IN THE DARK" by V.J.S. Coming soon!

4th July. Independence Day or 101 uses for a Sixpenny Candleabra.

2007-07-04T19:10:00.000+01:00

Rain has sort of rotted things. The strings which held my rose bushes at bay had disappeared completely, along with all the little flower buds. The wheelie bin is full of water and they say the Nene is about to burst its banks again. I had high hopes of beans on toast but a power cut thwarted my endeavours. Not so much the power cut but the resultant non functioning microwave which occurred when the power came back. No I cannot reprogramme the thing, can't be bothered to fiddle about with it. I don't want it to tell me the time, I want it to cook my beans. The bloody toaster doesn't have to be set to 12.15 before it will function so why on earth does the microwave?? In the end the beans got done in a saucepan, which had to be found, cleaned out, washed up by hand, dried and filled with beans. As opposed to two pint Pyrex with clingfilm over it for three minutes.........but it was alright in the end. Rain has sort of rotted things. Roses and radishes, cabbages and even the new spuds, by the look of things. It has rusted too, almost to a skeleton, the old iron candelabra which hangs in my appletree. It had a bird's nest in it one year, now it it so frail the next strong wind might blow it away. Not only are we having the wettest drought in living memory but the coldest spell of global warming since the whole silly fad was thought up. I'd go back to cave dwelling if I could, if I could. Oh yes, there was one for sale the other day!

Saturday 30th June.

2007-06-30T09:27:00.000+01:00

Hooray (and Boo) again. More offers of work. Right up until the end of July now and some more again in August. You see, they can't keep an old 'un down! But seriously, it means less time for dreaming and less time for moping about feeling sorry for myself! It means dressing properly, an soberly instead of slobbing around the house is dressing gown, nightie or underclothes and wearing (groan) proper, sensible, practical shoes. And I get paid to do it too!

Sunday 24th June 2007

2007-06-24T08:36:00.000+01:00

Suddenly this is getting more like a diary than anything else. Or perhaps even a dairy. That might explain the Marsbras I suppose. No, the weekend should have been mostly gardening, me trimming edges him cutting grass, me weeding him fiddling about. Except that it rained. Torrentially with thunderstorms too so hard that water came in under the front door and through a couple of windows. I wrote some more story instead while he grumbled his way through the Mail. I looked at the supplement and discovered which bikini would best suit me (actually it was a marquee) while he found something in the garage to complain about. In the end we watched a Danielle Steele DVD (free with the paper) and went to bed early. It has rained on and off for most o the night, Smokie came in very wet at about 5 a.m and miowed herself to a standstill all over the bed. Especially on his side. He grumbled, got up and went to the loo so I got up and went downstairs. Smokie followed me, got inside one of those black hessian bags that you get now instead of plastic carriers and promptly went to sleep. Such is life for a cat..............

Friday 22nd June 2007

2007-06-22T13:01:00.000+01:00

Hooray (and Booo!) Hooray 'cos I have got two weeks work to do and Boo 'cos tonight me old man is coming home. Two weeks work means I will have a reason to get up, get dressed and get out of the house and maybe meet some new people, and because the old man is coming home that means I'll have to look 'respectable' (whatever that is) for him. It is raining hard here and also bloody cold. I have run out of chocolate again (except for one (very old) Marsbar) so will after all, at some point today, have to get dressed and go out. Most of the story I wrote this morning got deleted when AVG cut in with its blasted update. Its never quite the same when you try to write it again for the second time. Spontenaity is all!

Thursday 21st June 2007

2007-06-21T04:24:00.000+01:00

Whats it all about I ask myself. What is the point of going on like this? Awake at 3.00 am, bored, tired, sleepless, depressed! Directionless and unnecessary. And it is at times like this when I really do feel like doing away with myself. Not even any bloody chocolate left................... xVx

Revenge is Sweet (and so is Lisa)

2007-06-20T10:14:00.000+01:00

Jayne awoke slowly and luxuriously, the time between one state and the other stretching and expanding into an indefinably extensive period. Her bladder was probably the first part of her to become fully awake and that only after several minutes had passed. Nothing unusual there then. Her mouth was a close second and again the stale, familiar taste was entirely recognizable. White wine and ……. and ……ah! That distinctly discernable distaste of men!

Oh God! The thoughts came to her. Men! If only they had legs, she’d like them so much better. Hazily she pictured the torso of Mr Depp with the legs of Sophie Dahl under it. She liked imaginary men most of all and those incorporating all the most fantastic features by far the best. Men! Oh hell yes! If only they had legs like…….like…….oh hell…...perhaps not then……

Keeping her eyes firmly closed she writhed luxuriously. It was her day off, the realization came to her slowly. And a Friday too. A Friday! How had she managed to wangle that? Aaah yes…… Lazily she rolled, reached an arm, half heartedly, sought another other presence in the bed …… and was neither disappointed nor relieved to discover none there. There were signs that one had been there, recently, of course. The dented pillow, the creased, pulled out edge of the bottom sheet. And of course, the smell. That was the one thing you could never get out of your bed. The smell of a man. She patted the cool, somehow gritty space. No, there was definitely no man there! No man and nothing, except the bedclothes exuding his smell and exhibiting their natural state of perpetually shocked disorderliness. Well, she licked her lips thoughtfully, she had only herself to please. Unironed sheets could not be seen in the dark and one of the advantages of being disorderly was that she constantly made new and exciting discoveries. Like the way her vibrator worked much better with the batteries out of the torch. Maybe she was domestically disabled, just as one of those bitchy women in the office had suggested. Well so what? They were so prim and proper that someone was going to have to set a bad example.

Oh she’d heard their scathing remarks alright. And ignored them. Slovenly cow, the bottle blonde battleaxe had said. And there had been much worse than that left on post-its at her work station. all of which she’d peeled off with an exaggerated casual disdain. Even her friends, so called friends then, had questioned her use of bright makeup sometimes. Jayne, they said, that stuffs for teenagers. My son’s girlfriend uses it, and, erm………I think it makes her look cheap. Well maybe I want to look cheap! She told them in no uncertain terms. That had sorted the wheat from the chaff and no mistake, her few real friends from the rest of them. But it wasn’t really enough to satisfy either her or them. They persisted and she still ignored them, all the while working on her fiendish plan.

So for the following Monday she decided to go the whole hog and disgust the lot of them. So what she was thirty five (well thirty seven actually) but there was no reason why she should not go to work as a Goth. A proper Goth too, no compromises! Black hair, black lippy, the darkest mauve eyeshadow on the palest face she could contrive. Then the boots, the clothes! Hell anyone’d think she was going to a fancy dress party on a Saturday rather than the boring old office on a Monday. But what the hell? If she was going to be absurd she might as well be very absurd!

And so she was. So much so that, when she walked into the office that morning nobody recognised her. There were a few sharp intakes of breath, several curious, not to say shocked, glances but it was not until she actually went to her own work station and sat down that anyone realised who she was. Then of course the rude remarks flew thick and fast. Scornfully she stripped the postits off her screen. Windows is starting up, it said. Good! She thought. I’m glad something is. Fuck me! In a month or two there are going to be some changes here.

Jayne! Someone squealed. Whatever have you done to yourself? I hardly recognised you! Oh it would be just like Lisa to say something like that. Lisa with the luscious bum and the loveliest little tits…… You have fifty three emails, her inbox said. Only fifty three? She wondered. On a Monday? ‘Go Fuck Yourself’ every one of the emails said.

A little tiny weeny temper rose in her guts. Of course the messages were all unsigned but that was no more nor less than she’d come to expect. Bitches! All of them! Delete All? She clicked ‘yes’ Well in a week or two she would see about that. Irony is not dead, she told herself firmly. Not dead! Oh no, it merely dozed. Dozed and waited. For it was written, you see, that on June 30^th 2007 she, Jayne would become the new legal MD of Grant and Co. her dear Daddy’s firm. Ten days to go then, before it all happened and none of the bitches were aware of it. She smiled to herself wickedly. Ten days! And then…….. well she’d not yet decided whether to use her powers for good or for evil but one thing was certain, she’d get her own back on the lot of them.

So she allowed herself to awaken slowly, revelling in the thoughts and the prospects of the long weekend which began that day. The man, whoever he’d been, had gone and she was alone at last. Alone and she felt a sin coming on. Whatever a sin is, she said to herself. Men she supposed. They were it! Yes, and some women too, no doubt. Spiteful, small minded and jealous. Well that was alright, she didn’t mind. She’d tried her luck with most varieties of men before she’d realised that, underneath, they were really all alike. Stick it in and she’ll be happy! No! Wrong! Stick it in and she will not be! Not like that anyway. Urrghh! The pillows stank of him. Bloody man! They really stank!

Disgustedly she rolled the other way, looked at the bedside clock through bleary eyes. To her surprise she saw that it was only half past eight. I’m awake too early, she told herself. Too early…… but then……

But then, at eleven, the doorbell would ring and Lisa, luscious Lisa would come breathlessly in. Lets ignore our mother’s well meaning advice, Lisa had suggested, the last time they’d met. Strange how both their mothers had advised the same thing. A nice man, rich and respectable, with a nice car and a house where you can have lots of his kids. Both mothers, never having met but aspiring to the same thing. She’d shuddered at the thought and Lisa had sniggered, then giggling girlishly they’d tumbled into bed. Oh Lisa didn't care what you did to her, just so long as she got a screamingly good orgasm in the end, didn't care what you used on her either. Oh yes! Revenge was sweet, but Lisa. Lovely Lisa with the little girl titties, was much sweeter.

……but then! In the end she stayed in bed until nearly half past ten before, in a flurry of frantic activity which amazed her she leapt and stripped and remade the bed. Luxury fitted sheet and duvet, fringed pillowcases on brand new, soft, soft, soft pillows, and here and there, a tiny hint of their favourite scent. Best of all, she’d showered and washed her hair by the time the doorbell rang. Dancing down the stairs in her wraparound robe she opened the door and ushered Lisa, the love of her life, straight in.

2007-06-11T16:54:00.000+01:00

Erotically speaking, (and don't I always?) only the other day I discovered, in the back of my wardrobe the cover of a Daily Telegraph Colour supplement ( left ) dated 22nd November 1998 (from a time when they still produced such things) and went through all the same sensations again as I had when I first saw it.................. Dunno what it is but it is Something! XVX

2007-06-11T06:11:00.000+01:00

In Church…………………………………………………………………………………………..part four.

Paul stayed sort of bent over me for ages after he’d come. He might have fallen asleep I suppose, oh I wouldn’t have been surprised if he did. But eventually I had to retrieve my legs, put my feet down, push him away so that he slithered out limply. Oh dear, poor little thing! It looked like I’d broken it again!! Fucking hell Vicky, he breathed. That was brilliant. That’s your fault, you bastard, I said. And god, if you’re still there, yes my nipples do hurt terrifically .

Are you alright? He asked thoughtfully. I nodded, wanting to wait awhile then do it again. A dribble of his stuff tickled its way into a pussy shaped stain on the altarcloth.

You okay? I asked, to which he smiled broadly. Vicky, he said again, that was fucking terrific! He’d come a lot I could tell but it was rather naughty of him I think to wipe his thing on a corner of the cloth. Fucking sacrilege, that’s what it is, Paul said. I grinned, smoothed my hands down over my belly. I reckon it used to happen in places of worship a lot more than you think, I told him. I’d read that it was so, somewhere. Anyway, I said, Do you want to do it again? He looked at me, startled I think. We both knew he’d not be able to do much else so soon but I thought I’d ask anyway. The way I was feeling at that moment I’d have had the vicar if he had walked in. Wait awhile can you? Paul asked hopefully, knowing from experience the way I was feeling. Its alright, I told him. See how you are when we get back to the car. That was more than an hour away so I knew he’d be up and running again by then. And I know he can do it because my daughter told me sometimes she does it three times a night with him.

But all too soon the chill of the stone got to us, bringing goosepimples to my thighs and to Paul’s shoulders and shins. We cuddled awkwardly, me sitting sideways and him standing in front of me, seemingly on only one leg. My feet are cold, he told me. I nodded. Well we’d better get dressed. Side by side we walked back down the aisle, angled sunshine filling the engraved letters on the tombstones with a pure liquid light. Look at that, I said. “Beloved” had gone all golden.

Somewhere about one of my socks had got fed up with waiting for my foot to warm it up and decided instead to hide. Socks are like that, aren’t they? Sneaky! They cleverly mould themselves to the shape of you foot on their insides and to the shape of you shoe on the outside while keeping mum about the whole thing until such times as you come to take them off for some reason, for instance to wash them. Very often, no usually I think, after a fuck as good as that one had been, I just want to sleep. We’d brought the church to life, albeit only briefly, for the first time in probably five hundred years, shown it what love was all about, whatever, to the contrary, passing parsons had instilled into it. And there was my sock, inside my boot all the time, hiding in the first place I’d looked for it.

Five minutes later Paul unlocked the door, we stepped into the porch, then into bright sunlight. What have you been doing in there? A voice asked inquisitively. Oh! It was the local busybody looking over the hedge. Brass rubbing, Paul told her. Brass rubbing, the busy body said. But there aren’t any brasses in there. My dear, I said, scratching my crotch and staring at her boldly, There are now, ‘cos we’ve just put some in! Sometimes sweethearts, where jobsworths and busybodies are concerned I simply cannot resist!

2007-06-08T10:37:00.000+01:00

In Church………………………………………………………………………………………….part three.

Oh yes, they were as good as me, quality only being subjective, I don’t care what you say, lewd and lascivious every one of them, full of themselves and intent upon enjoying every minute of this, my most important day.

My man did not turn when I walked up behind him, only his best man, half turned to look my way. I hoped he had the ring in is pocket for, bless me, I had no idea where it would be if he didn’t. He smirked, a secret passed between us, a secret that everyone there could have shared. Then all eyes were upon me as I slipped my arm through his and the ceremony began……….

Sunlight patterned the floor intricately. Diamonds and rectangles elongated, angles distorted, planes pressed into unbelievable shapes. The step up was so slight that it took no effort at all, except in the knowledge of what we were about to do. No it is not desecration if the building has been de-consecrated but this one hadn’t had it? No, they still held their services here. Dust on the floor, the grime of ages. Dead petals, dead building, dead people, dead religion. As dead as the stone they’d hewn it from originally. As Dead as the Dust beneath my feet!

Paul had taken off his own rucsac, I noticed and his jacket too, no, more than that for his chest was bare. The aisle was wider there, above that step, wider and with lined by pews which were bigger, darker, more ornate. Weird, I said to myself. Snakes for goodness sakes………..misiericords, incense burners, bronze crosses standing tall in polished sticks. And grinning skulls in rows or niches, sockets staring sightlessly. Go on, he said, I dare you, shut the fuck up, I said. Paul laughed, he knew we were going to anyway. He just wanted to aggravate me. I looked up at the hymn numbers in their rack by the pulpit, stained cards numbered either six six six or plain, off white and blank.

The steps were curved that went up to it, the ornately carved dais with the reading slope in front of it. Cool oak against hot feet, cool air against my skin as I pulled up my shirt. Here beginneth the first lesson, Paul announced grandly when I got out my tits.

In my minds eye my congregation cheered again then, even louder, appreciating the sight of me. And was it Uncle Beast I could see arm in arm with the vicar or was that just the verger going off for his tea……….

There was a little drop down seat in the back of that pulpit onto which I deposited my hurriedly taken off and mostly inside out clothes. I was ready for him now, a hole for him to impale on that sacrificial altar. Slut, he whispered as I came down the stairs, he didn’t mean it though, he only says things like that to provoke me. Get you fucking clothes off I hissed as he grinned lewdly at me and, without further ado, he did.

There was a cloth of some sort over the top of a thicker pad of something on the top of the sturdy oak table which served as that church’s altar. Paul approached, pale and painfully erect. I sat up, lay down, spread my legs for him to finger me, put my feet on his shoulders when he lifted me. That altar was exactly the right height, Sweethearts, for Paul to slide his lovely lovely cock right into me. Bloody hell you are wet, he told me. Anticipation, I replied. You know I’ve been thinking about things. He pinched my nipples, both at once, unexpectedly so that I screamed. Bastard I cried, so he did it again, harder. Well it all goes towards making me come.

Stained glass coloured our skin, a figure raised two fingers but could not quite get them inside me. An angel swooped and somewhere in the roof someone’s devil died again its endless death. Music played then, torrentially, thunderously, the drumbeat rolling, reverberating hollowly. He called me names and in return I abused him roundly, squeezing his little boys thing with my muscles until, immobile, he could only grunt. In my bedroom no-one cares if I scream. In that church, on that afternoon, I screamed and shouted anyway and still no-one cared. I am going to fill you, he said, his face rigid. Bastard, I snarled, you could never do that. I was numb nippled now and still he had not done with me, but I was past caring by the time he began to smack my legs. Paul can be a real swine sometimes you know. I have taught him the arts of lovemaking very well, or so I like to think. Sometimes though he does work things out for himself, which is very pleasing. I mean , it was ages before he realised I really did want him to hit me, but once he did he worked out when, where and how without me having to tell him twice. Now as his smacks grew harder and more frequent I felt myself beginning to come. Like I said, he can be a real swine if he tries. Brilliant at holding me there, right there, on the very edge of the edge. I swore at him again and again, to which he merely grinned wryly, before swiping me a couple of times lightly across the face. Burning I screamed at him, my voice falling flatly, futilely on his unheeding ears. I wanted his stuff inside me then, at that moment more than anything else in the world, wanted to feel the bursting pulse of life spurting through this church.

Stone faces sneered down at me. Look at the slut, they said to each other. Here in this place. The typical fallen woman! Tongues extended they queued for me, dripping spite and bile and bitter, uncontrollable watery semen. Dust thickened, coagulated, our sweat lightening it. Paul began to groan massively. For me the precipice loomed closer and closer then faded, the point of no return edging from front to back.

I could have fucked for England then and won first prize easily. I writhed and jerked and bit him, poor Paul when he tried to kiss me. Then it was too late, too late to do anything about anything. Except howl and scream as the cataract burst within me.

He could not hold back the torrent then, neither mine nor his, any longer. With a yell that almost deafened me he did, as he’d promised, his best to entirely fill me. Well if there was a god there I hope he enjoyed our little exhibition. If there was a god there he’d only got himself to blame after all, and had there been a bell in that tower of his I would surely have rung it.

2007-06-05T21:34:00.000+01:00

In Church…………………………part two.

It will be locked up, won’t it? I asked To keep out vandals, burglars and things? Paul laughed Yes it is locked, he told me gaily, but I know where they hide the key. Well that was clever of him wasn’t it, I said to myself, knowing nothing of the story behind his finding the thing. Oh I said, so we can have our lunch inside can we? If you like we can, he said, as we walked between the jumbled gravestones towards the porch.

It looked like they still had a service of some kind there a couple of times of the year. At least the pinned up faded notices on a board inside the porch indicated it was so, but the dead leaves and dusty cobwebs suggested not many people had passed that way since Easter, and then perhaps only as far as the porch to shelter from the rain. Maybe they thought leaving the doorkey where they did was putting it in a safe place. I don’t know. It was obvious to me that was the place to look, on the high up, recessed stone shelf above the arched porch door. At least two blackbirds must have thought so too for the remains of their nests still resided up there, intricately woven creations of grasses, horsehair and mud.

It was a big old wrought iron key that Paul fetched down off that shelf, worn dully shiny with a light coating of rust and the keyhole in the door with the massive box lock behind it practically the size of a letterbox in its own right. Hinges screeched, dust cascaded and cool, musty air surged out from inside.

There was a little step down, my eyes told me, adjusting slowly to the haze of dust and gloom. I don’t know what I expected but it certainly wasn’t to find the place still half full of furniture, equipment and pews. Thought you said it was empty, I asked him. He grinned sheepishly. Well it is for most of the year. But they do have one service on Christmas eve and another at Easter, he said. Three months ago then, I told him. That explains the rubbish in the porch at least. Paul nodded, refitting the key on the inside of the door in order to lock us in.

I walked to the middle of the floor at the bottom of the aisle where a huge display of dead flowers still adorned the stump of a font. It was macabre, eerie even, creepy in a way that I found suddenly an incredible turn on. Oooh, if ever I was to get married again I’d want to do it in a place like this. Then of course my imagination ran completely and utterly away with me. Me in see through white silk walking down the aisle to get wed to my man. All the guests, and there were hundreds of them, were either in fancy dress or sexually revealing costumes. What do you think? Paul asked as I stared down the aisle towards the altar. Weird! I whispered. It is just so…… weird!

Blue slate memorials formed the floor of the aisle, worn shiny by centuries of pious feet. ………… Robert, beloved son of somebody or other and his wife Alice twentieth day of July in the year of our Lord seventeen sixteen…………. In his forty fifth year, Ebeneezer…………… at peace………. At rest…………. Beloved………..beloved…………..beloved………….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I took off my rucsac and put it on the end of a pew, took off my boots and socks and walked up aisle in bare feet. Beyond the arch a little step and beyond that step a patterned tiled floor, as wide as a highway led directly to the altar. This is where my husband will stand, I told myself. Waiting for me, without turning round as Uncle Beast, in place of my father, escorts me towards him. Vicky! oh, what has brought that man to the fore? Uncle Beast? What has made you suddenly re-remember him? It was the name Ebeneezer, inscribed into the floor, that had done it! In my head I heard the music, the Bach, the Sibelius, whatshisname’s serenade for strings. And the assembled company clapped and cheered as I passed them slowly, my face flushed with the mounting excitement of my day. We looked at each other as we walked, Uncle Beast and me. Ten minutes late to the church was nothing to worry about because that ten minutes was as long as Uncle beast had taken to make love to me in the back of the car driven oh so slowly all the way to the church. He’d have had the bridesmaids too, I reckon, except that they went in a different car. Oh yes, my friends cheered loudly for they knew what we’d done at sure as I was standing there. They were, without exception, all as “bad” if not worse, than I was, you see.