Freddie Flits & Dips Here & There

* The setting is England.

CHAPTER 1

The coach was full as it left Oathaven and headed north for London on the annual outing of the Women Against Family Violence Society. Husbands accompanied their wives or partners except for widow Marion Fanning who brought along her eldest, 20-year-old Freddie, a university undergraduate seeking a degree in banking and finance.

The tour leader Francis, new and second wife of the Rev. Percy Ives, had been ticking off arrivals on her clipboard as they entered the coach and looked around anxiously for the last arrival. Freddie ran from across the street chewing at a piece of cardboard-like pizza that he decided tasted like shit rather than the alleged 'chopped ham and cheese in gravy'.

"Are you Freddie Fanning?"

"Yes babe, and who are you?"

"Tour leader Francis Ives, Mrs." There was no emphasis on the title of Mrs.

"Simply stunning," Freddie said and boarded.

Marion Fanning was sitting next to Iona Stewart. She glared at her son and said, "You're late" and all the older males smiled, recalling that even sons out of their teens remain under contrived female dominance.

"I saw no reason to hurry as I knew you'd not allow the bus to depart without me."

The women who heard that sighed, thinking another egoistical male bound to heap trouble on a poor unfortunate woman who fell besotted by his unruly blond hair and sharp blue eyes and who stupidly would say yes to his proposal of marriage.

Freddie went to the back seat that went the full width of the vehicle to the one spare seat and offered a bite out of the pizza to the woman next to him. She snorted and complained to her barrel-like husband who exchanged seats with her. His suit smelt of beer and cigarette smoke so Freddie turned to the woman on his left. She swallowed and whispered to her husband. They swapped seats so Freddie now had a thin guy in a suit that smelt of mothballs sitting on the other side of him. He was unimpressed and had no idea what the two men and their wives thought. He wished someone more human was sitting next to him like...er...that Mrs Ives. God, what a honey she was -- she'd be not much more than thirty and married to that dour beanstalk minister.

The tour through the Modern Tate gallery of art from 1900 quite fascinated Freddie and his interest caught the interest of the tour leader who'd become a little miffed by comments from others in the party such as 'Revolting', 'It's ridiculous making women look like this' and 'A heap of codswallop'.

"Oh this is magnificent Mrs Ives. I'm so glad I joined your tour."

"Why did you join the tour Freddie?"

"Mom wanted someone to accompany her and my two sisters wanted to do other things."

"And noble Freddie stepped in and said something like 'Mother, I'll not leave you unattended'?"

Freddie smiled. "Actually I said yeah because she said if I came with her I could have the car for four Saturday nights."

The minister's wife giggled, hitting an alert button within Freddie. He looked and caught the beautiful smile. God, she was so choice.

"Call me Francis. You are my only bright light in this party I'm afraid Freddie. Some are critical we are not viewing earlier art, others wished we were at the Albert and Victoria Museum and some of the men expressed the wish to be at a pub."

"Philistines Francis."

She took his hand and squeezed it. "Yes and thank you for your understanding. Sit with me at lunch."

Freddie watched the long-back Francis walk away, her short auburn hair dancing just above her shoulders and the cute ass was a joy to behold. She had little flab and that would be why her boobs were almost invisible; they'd almost certainly be small. Freddie wondered if she were lonely and was feeling strongly the absence of sex being married to a pious 50-year-old. Nah, the lucky sod would be all over her in nightly hip-thrusting ruts that took him halfway through the night. Freddie, addicted to one-night stands, found himself taking a mild interest. He actually wondered what Francis would be like pushing into her...

"That's a piece of art I didn't think you would be interested in," his mother said. "I thought you would be having your tongue swell in your mouth while you panted over the nudes?"

"Ah no, my interest in art is global," Freddie said, still looking in the direction where Mrs Ives's ass had been but now found Picasso's Three Dancers in focus.

"This is boring. I wish we were looking at pre 1900 art with religious themes," complained his mother, wandering off arm-in-arm with the haughty Mrs Stewart, at least she acted haughty whenever Freddie was around. Perhaps she was his mother's secret lover? His mother and sex? Nah. Oh shit, she must have been into sex to have three children and you don't get a kid with the first spew of seed. She must have been fucking as if there was no tomorrow. His mother? Christ, what was the world coming to?

Freddie wandered on wondering how many times a week Francis and her clergyman did it. Fifty-three? Three? Suddenly there was Francis walking back towards him. She smiled and he asked, "How many times a week do your husband and you do it?"

That wiped the smile from her face. Freddie was sorry about that. Was he insane?

He apologized, pathetically. "It's all this surrealism around me."

Francis was now blushing. "It's okay, quite a reasonable question actually from a stranger."

Freddie looked at his feet and willed them to take him through the floor.

"It's perhaps the most astonishing question I've ever been asked."

He tried in vain to answer.

"You know what?" she smiled.

Freddie shook his head dumbly.

"I've never counted." She walked on, laughing.

"Oh God," he murmured. "This is the worst day of my life."

No it wasn't. He remembered that occurred when he was fifteen. He'd masturbated into the bathroom sink and decided to go for a record four times. He was red-faced superheated and groaning near to release but was having difficulty coming. He heard a noise and looked up to find his mother and two sisters in the doorway, hands over their mouths giggling. He'd forgotten to lock the door. One of the filthy bitches must have sneaked a look and gone off and bought back the other two females. To cap it off, rather than shoot a huge load into the basin to impress the family his dick went limp on him. That ending had been total humiliation.

Freddie moved on, head down, embarrassed at having said that to Francis and aghast she'd had to dig probably to the limits of her generosity to make light of it. Well, wasn't she the right kind of woman to be married to a clergyman. She was an angel. At that Freddie, still head down almost knocked over a woman who began to fall backwards in the collusion.

"Get your hands off me you male hedonistic creep," snarled the feminist, probably a feminist lesbian of limited brainpower, thought Freddie as he had his hands smacked away.

"It was an accident and had I not arrested your fall you could have been hurt."

"Brenda would have preferred that rather than be handled by a man," said her 200lb companion.

"My sincerest apologies. Freddie lied, "I had just seen the Michael Masturbator-Fuchs painting of lesbian women being stoned to death and the enormity of that crime weight heavily on me and I accidentally walked into you."

Just as the two women moved in on Freddie, Francis arrived miraculously and grabbing Freddie by the arm said, "My apologies ladies. This patient has escaped the confines of our supervised party from the Home of the Criminally Insane. I must take him into personal custody. My apologies if he has caused you distress. Please stand aside and allow us through."

The gawking women parted and Francis apologised again as she frog-marched Freddie between the women, his right-hand held up painfully between his shoulder blades.

"The likes of him should be castrated," said one of the women.

"Oh that has been done," Francis said sweetly and the two other women cackled in laughter.

Francis whispered, "Keep walking and don't struggle to get free. If they complain you will be detained for questioning."

Freddie seized the moment. "Ease the pressure and push your breasts against my arm and I'll gladly walk a hundred miles like this."

He cried "Ouch' as Frances applied more pressure and said, "Your mind seems preoccupied with sex. Perhaps I should strip you and give you a real birching."

Freddie had always thought of trying a birching but not by this tough bitch.

She loosened the pressure and he didn't attempt to break free. "You were a silly boy taking on those two women; they were just itching to smack you around the gallery."

"How do you know that?"

"I was coming up and heard your stupid attempt at apologising and that riled them, knowing you were being politely offensive. I saw them exchange glances and then the cruel smiles."

"Fuck me, you were brave."

"Yes, a little but I had to be inventive and managed that."

"Yes you were all of that Frances. I apologize for being rather a pain for you."

"Nonsense, your are the only one in the group not full of complaints. Most of the men would rather be in a pub and most of the women want to be at the Victoria and Albert. Now off you go -- follow the group to where were are having lunch."

She let him go and pushed him off with her chest. Freddie was sure as that because despite clothing, there is nothing softer on a guy's back than a woman's breast. He grinned; he'd purposely said, "Fuck me" in emphasis when speaking about her being brave and there had been no reprimand. She seemed to always be coming back to check on him. What was going on here?

There were forty-eight people in the party and they split up to go to three pubs for lunch.

The Rev Ives suggested everyone line up behind him, or Mr Faraday or Mr Redgrave to end up in parties of sixteen to go to different places for lunch. Freddie lined up two persons back from Francis. She turned and saw him and smiled and that sent his pulse rate scampering. Mrs Stewart then asked for permission to speak and several people called go ahead. She went to the front and said, "Several people have said to me why don't we visit the Albert and Victoria this afternoon, have dinner in The City and go home late. I have spoken to the driver who called his depot and was told that was accepted providing we cough up another one hundred pounds. I'm prepared to pay that."

"No, no," Francis said, darting to the front. "Would the team leaders please collect two pounds off everyone except those wanting to return home straight after lunch. They can go by train."

Everyone wanted to stay on and coughed up.

The Rev Ives chose the Dog and Whistle and Francis looked at Freddie and patted the seat beside her for him to sit but Mrs Thornberry pushed past and took that seat. Freddie turned before Francis could catch his eye and then took a table by himself after ordering a pint of best bitter at the bar and hunched over it to sulk. Then the unbelievable happened. He heard Rev Ives say, "Look at Marion's son sitting over there by himself. "Go and sit with the young chap Francis."

Freddie could hear her footsteps approaching and then thought he detected the sandalwood and orange fragrance of her perfume. She draped a hand over his shoulder and said, "Oh you poor boy, all alone."

"Sit opposite me, not beside me otherwise I could be tempted to grope."

"Oooh."

She took her time walking to the other side of the table.

"Like a beer."

She screwed up her nose.

"I'll get you anything you like."

She said vodka lime and soda.

He fetched it. She took a long sip and said, "I've become a little attracted to you."

Freddie said oh yeah, was that good or bad?

She answered bad, very bad. She was married.

He leered and asked what was she going to do about it and she said nothing and asked what was he going to do about it.

"Dunno. I'll have to give it some thought."

"Oh no Freddie. Please. You can't. It would cause such a ruckus."

"Well, we'll have to be clever, won't we?"

She flushed and he thought she really was quite pretty, despite her freckles. A long neck, very kissable lips and her eyes often carried a surprise look that really appealed to him. The body was slender but she did have some breast development and he thought her belly would be flat and she wouldn't shave, perhaps not even trim so an auburn bush was likely.

During the remainder of the afternoon he thought a great deal about surprise in her eyes, kissing those kissable lips and thinking recklessly about an auburn bush.

Dinner was forgettable. A group of the men exercised their natural-born dominance by demanding everyone go to a beer hall that featured a few two-bit stage presentations. As expected the women countered but were unprepared and with superior judgement nominated six other alternative places but it was agreed the party should not split in London at night and the women failed to agree on which one of their nominations they should select so the inevitable happened. The party went to a smelly beer hall where the food was cheap and forgettable, the entertainment was third-rate and coarse and the beer flowed like water and as the evening wore on tasted like it and the alternative drinks favoured by the women were a callous rip-off.

Most of the tour party staggered as they returned to the bus, feeling a little talkative, amorous or sleepy so most would sleep on the journey home of more than three hours to their small town in South Devon.

* * *

Tour leader Francis Ives had circulated amongst her charges at the beer hall, exercising her desire to cultivate leadership qualities to be effective in support of her husband's flock, or at least this element of it. She'd noted Freddie appeared to have only two glasses of wine. Why was he retaining his sobriety? Those around him, especially the men but also a few of the women, appeared to be in real party mood.

Freddie intrigued her, well flattered her really. A woman of thirty-two would find it flattering to have a 20-year-old coming on to her, wouldn't she? Even if she were married and a minister's wife to boot? Francis evaded answering her questions, already caught out by a jump in her breathing rate and the hot flush sweeping her body. She'd dropped out of divinity studies early on and transferred to complete a BA in sociology instead. After graduation she became a voluntary worker for her local church while applying for jobs and began to notice Rev Ives was taking more than a passing interest in her. His wife had died eight months earlier, seven weeks after being knocked down on a pedestrian crossing by a lorry.

It wasn't a courtship. Percy walked into her at doorway, held her and apologised and she looked up at him in surprise and he kissed her. She was lonely so kissed him back. The next time they kissed he touched her left breast, the next time he put a hand in to fondle it and so she pressed in hard against him and felt his erection against her pubic bone. He asked hoarsely did she want sex. Of course she did. She wasn't a virgin and had missed her regular shafting at university. She nodded and he said well they better marry so she nodded and the betrothal was announced from the pulpit and suddenly she was somebody and her popularity increased enormously. Now young Freddie wanted to fuck her.

Yes, thought Francis. Why pretend to be naïve. She knew the signs. She wouldn't yield, no definitely not.

As the evening wore on she thought well perhaps it was fortuitous Freddie was interested in her. Clearly he was a young stud but they'd have to be very careful. Her problem was she wasn't getting enough sex. Percy had been great for the first four or five weeks, into it night and morning and sometime straight after lunch. But now five months on since their marriage they were doing it regularly three times a week and she guessed it would fall to twice a week soon. Heavens, she was only thirty-two and needed it more than that. Still three times was sufficient to achieve their plan to have the first of their two children. The late Mrs Ives and Percy had not managed to conceive. It was still too early to be suspicious Percy might be at fault. Well, Francis knew she was in prime time for pregnancy so perhaps fusion with Freddie could be...er...fruitful. The problem was how could they fuck surrounded by this crowd, half of them doing their best to become half-drunk or even worse.

Sitting with Freddie and the coach driver watching the final show -- the three of them drinking coffee with no alcohol glasses on the table -- Francis said to Alec the driver he would have to make several comfort stops on the way home.

"Yes Mrs Ives, I have that built into my schedule. This is standard practice when on tour with parties who indulge in the demon drink that later cries to be let out."

The three of them laughed and Francis noted Freddie had a lovely smile and great teeth. For the first time in her life, without being worked up sexually, she really did want a guy to have his way with her. No -- she didn't mean Alec their driver who appeared to be around sixty-five.

As the coach moved off Francis jumped up and urged everything to join in a sing-a-long. She had a lovely voice and started off with a popular tune the older folk would know, 'Amazing Grace'. That got almost everyone away and after an hour when it was quietening down the driver turned off most of the light. The church deaconess Mrs Brown came down and asked Francis if she would kindly sit by Mr Brown because she'd like to chat with Percy.

As she neared the back of the bus Francis peered in the gloom and saw Freddie was in the corner of the back seat and one of the men off the back seat was stretched out in the aisle snoring. She quietly asked the couple next to Freddie to move along and then sat beside Freddie. The nearest person Mr Manning had his back to Freddie and was pawing his wife who didn't seem to mind. Francis couldn't believe how this was all working in her favour. It was as if it were meant to happen. It now depended on Freddie.

Francis knew she had to strike fast. She removed her coat and placing it over her lap sat down beside Freddie and said hi.

He smiled and whispered, "Hi gorgeous" and that's when she kissed him and kept on kissing him, holding the back of his head so he couldn't pull away after the customary twenty-second kiss. She opened her mouth and in went his tongue like a guided missile. Heavens, men were so easy to seduce, she thought.

Freddie had seen Francis walking to the back, pause beside Mr Brown's seat and then come on. She whispered to the couple beside him and they moved along, God, she had practically ignored him all night and now wanted to sit beside him. The cold bitch was coming alongside to apologise. Why the fuck was she removing her coat; some of the people had been complaining the heating was set too low? She said hi and then kissed him, holding his head against hers, signalling this was no friendly kiss.

Her aggression hurled Freddie into defensive mode. Okay, he'd been openly flirting with her early in the day but then she cooled off and he felt all at sea with a big bunch of boring old folk, she being the only person to have really switched on his light. But he couldn't fuck his mother's minister's wife. His mum would murder him. No, he definitely could not. Then Francis' mouth opened, his tongue knew what to do and as their tongues entwined he knew that was Francis saying to him fuck me but work me up first and take care not to attract attention.

His cock rose to the occasion.

Freddie placed a hand over a breast. Her hand went over his, not to pull his hand away but to indicate it was welcome to stay. He kissed her nose, her eyes, her ears and she stroked his face and made just the slightest of sounds at the back of her throat. He wormed a hand under her top and up under her bra. The tits were small and very firm and the nipples although small were rubbery hard of a woman waiting to be fucked. Freddie sunk the same hand down over her belly, over the pubic bone and straight into hair. She'd taken her panties off -- probably at the beer hall. She had planned to be fucked. Her legs parted and the hair at her opening was moist, very moist.