nibble each others lips for a few minutes before I flip her over onto her back and she flicks her legs up against my shoulders.
“Goodbye cock,” I say as I watch it disappear.
“Remember, darling,” she says, “you’re not losing a cock, you’re gaining a vagina.”
She’s funny, see, and you don’t meet many birds with a sense of humour.
They’re very much worth having.
Take my word for it.
CHAPTER SIX
Of all the birds I had about that time Sandy was the most memorable. I admired her and I felt quite honoured to be having it away with her. She was always dead straight and never talked down to you. Not like some of those upper class birds who could never resist telling you they were slumming, just so they didn’t feel too bad about it the next day. They really wanted a spade but they couldn’t quite stoop to that and you were the next best thing.
I even used to ring Sandy up outside business hours and I went round to her flat in the evening a couple of times. She was always very breathless on the phone as if she was terribly busy and trying to remember all the things she had to do. “Hallo-yes-who? – oh yes – sorry. No of course, I do. Yes that’s fine I think – wait a minute – no sorry. What is today? Thursday? Good God. No I can’t I’ve got some other fellah coming round. Better make it another time. Do give me a ring though because I’d adore seeing you again. ’Bye luv.”
I know its bloody stupid but I was a little jealous of all those other blokes I imagined trooping round there. I knew they existed, of course, but all the same I’d look at my watch a few hours later and think now they’re on the job; now some other lucky bastard is stroking that smooth creamy brown skin; now her pepper mill arse is grinding him into small fragments of ecstasy; now – God! It really choked me I can tell you.
Of the other birds. I steered clear of Viv because I didn’t want to rub Sid up the wrong way but I kept in touch with Dorothy and Mrs. Armstrong. It was always the same with them. Every time I left the house I vowed it would be the last time but a couple of months later I’d be back again and quite looking forward to seeing them.
Before I went back to Dorothy I bought her an outrageous pair of panties from Marks and Sparks which must have made her old man sit up if he even noticed them. Also, a pair of fishnet tights. Once she saw those it didn’t take me long to wonder what they would look like on, we organised a little fashion show upstairs. This proved that the panties were perfect but that the tights weren’t quite long enough in the leg – she had very long legs did Dorothy. This didn’t matter too much because the tights got torn anyway. We were in a bit of a hurry getting them off.
Mrs. Armstrong was more of a puzzle. Everytime I went through the back door I’d start thinking I must have dreamed it the last time. Mrs. A. smelling like the ground floor of Debenham and Freebodys and looking over my shoulder as if she had double vision. But it was always the same. I’d be squeezin’ out my chamois and the old trolley would go rambling past. “I thought you might like some tea”: “Thank you very much.” Into the sitting room and a load of chat about her bloody stepdaughters or how the country was going to the dogs. Then, just when I was looking at my watch and mumbling that I had to be getting along she’d suddenly press her hands together and say something like “Would you like to go upstairs, or would you rather stay here?” Once I said “I’d rather stay here,” and she had me in front of the fire with me watching her head reflected in the side of the tea pot as it bobbed up and down.
If this part of my life represented a bit of variety, things at home hardly changed at all. Dad was off work which was as normal as Thursday – he had trouble with his back which Sid said boiled down to an inability to get it off the bed: Mum was still counting how many Ngoblas went
“Goodbye cock,” I say as I watch it disappear.
“Remember, darling,” she says, “you’re not losing a cock, you’re gaining a vagina.”
She’s funny, see, and you don’t meet many birds with a sense of humour.
They’re very much worth having.
Take my word for it.
CHAPTER SIX
Of all the birds I had about that time Sandy was the most memorable. I admired her and I felt quite honoured to be having it away with her. She was always dead straight and never talked down to you. Not like some of those upper class birds who could never resist telling you they were slumming, just so they didn’t feel too bad about it the next day. They really wanted a spade but they couldn’t quite stoop to that and you were the next best thing.
I even used to ring Sandy up outside business hours and I went round to her flat in the evening a couple of times. She was always very breathless on the phone as if she was terribly busy and trying to remember all the things she had to do. “Hallo-yes-who? – oh yes – sorry. No of course, I do. Yes that’s fine I think – wait a minute – no sorry. What is today? Thursday? Good God. No I can’t I’ve got some other fellah coming round. Better make it another time. Do give me a ring though because I’d adore seeing you again. ’Bye luv.”
I know its bloody stupid but I was a little jealous of all those other blokes I imagined trooping round there. I knew they existed, of course, but all the same I’d look at my watch a few hours later and think now they’re on the job; now some other lucky bastard is stroking that smooth creamy brown skin; now her pepper mill arse is grinding him into small fragments of ecstasy; now – God! It really choked me I can tell you.
Of the other birds. I steered clear of Viv because I didn’t want to rub Sid up the wrong way but I kept in touch with Dorothy and Mrs. Armstrong. It was always the same with them. Every time I left the house I vowed it would be the last time but a couple of months later I’d be back again and quite looking forward to seeing them.
Before I went back to Dorothy I bought her an outrageous pair of panties from Marks and Sparks which must have made her old man sit up if he even noticed them. Also, a pair of fishnet tights. Once she saw those it didn’t take me long to wonder what they would look like on, we organised a little fashion show upstairs. This proved that the panties were perfect but that the tights weren’t quite long enough in the leg – she had very long legs did Dorothy. This didn’t matter too much because the tights got torn anyway. We were in a bit of a hurry getting them off.
Mrs. Armstrong was more of a puzzle. Everytime I went through the back door I’d start thinking I must have dreamed it the last time. Mrs. A. smelling like the ground floor of Debenham and Freebodys and looking over my shoulder as if she had double vision. But it was always the same. I’d be squeezin’ out my chamois and the old trolley would go rambling past. “I thought you might like some tea”: “Thank you very much.” Into the sitting room and a load of chat about her bloody stepdaughters or how the country was going to the dogs. Then, just when I was looking at my watch and mumbling that I had to be getting along she’d suddenly press her hands together and say something like “Would you like to go upstairs, or would you rather stay here?” Once I said “I’d rather stay here,” and she had me in front of the fire with me watching her head reflected in the side of the tea pot as it bobbed up and down.
If this part of my life represented a bit of variety, things at home hardly changed at all. Dad was off work which was as normal as Thursday – he had trouble with his back which Sid said boiled down to an inability to get it off the bed: Mum was still counting how many Ngoblas went
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