tagText With AudioThe Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 12

The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 12

byPAUL C©

The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 12: A Birthday Treat

A Paul and Jenny story. By Paul.
(Copyright 2000 by Paul. All rights reserved.)
All events and characters are fictitious.


Click Here to listen to Chapter 1.

Click Here to listen to Chapter 2.

Click Here to listen to Chapter 3.

Chapter 1.

I sat at my desk in the attic. An economics textbook open before me. I picked up the oblong desk calendar in front of me and ran my fingertip over the wheel to change the date. 3 July 1971 it read.

I looked at my watch. Ten o'clock. Jenny was late back from her lecture. We wouldn't have time for a quick one in the pub before it closed at this rate. I fiddled with the wheel again. The number changed. I was twenty-one. Well, not for two hours. Seven, I suppose, if I were to be really accurate as I'd first drawn breath at two minutes after five in the morning.

What a night that had been. Three people had lost their lives and I had started mine.

I heard a car, no two, pull up outside. At last. But who was with her?

I closed my textbook and made my way down the steep stairs to the landing below. I was about to go into the main bedroom and look out of the window when the front door opened and Jenny burst into the hall.

She wasn't carrying anything except a notebook that she placed on the hall table.

Where had she hid my present? I'd searched everywhere. In the attic, cellar and outbuilding. Even inside her car.

She was either very good at hiding things or she'd forgotten. She can't have. I'd even discussed the American Independence Day with her. We'd talked about how Michael de Vane and Lee-Anne and the others we had met on our Nile cruise would be celebrating. What Howie and Carole would be likely to be doing in Jamaica? We had both agreed on what they would be doing.

Talking of which.

Jenny saw me at the top of the stairs and flew up to greet me.

She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me.

This was more like it.

I put hands on her ass cheeks.

"Hallo Paul."

I let go, quickly.

"Hallo Mother."

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, my Father behind her.

"Hallo Dad."

"Alright Paul?" He replied.

"Your Mum and Dad are staying the night." Jenny kissed my nose then my chin.

"Isn't that wonderful."

"Yeah."

She pinched my ass.

"Yes of course it is. What brings you to Bristol?" I asked as we walked hand in hand down the stairs.

"Your Mother wanted to be here for some reason." My Father said, as they followed us into the living room.

It looked like the single bed in the spare room for us. That could be fun. "Did you not bring a case?" I asked as they sat on the sofa. Perhaps they were going on to a hotel.

"It's in the car." Mother replied.

"I'll get it for you." I said.

"No need for that." My Father waved me towards my armchair. "I'll get it later."

"I'll make the tea."

Jenny bounced out of the room. She looked happy.

"I'll help her." I said following her.

The kettle was already filled and on by the time I had my arms around her waist and pulled her ass cheeks back into my groin.

"Don't." She said clenching and relaxing alternate cheeks against my prick.

"Your parents are here."

"Not in here." I pointed out cupping her breasts.

I could almost feel them swelling. I could feel the nipples hardening. She turned her head and lifted her face towards me. I kissed her lips.

Her mouth opened and I pushed my tongue against hers. The tips flicking at one another until she closed her lips around mine and sucked it in and out of her mouth.

I was getting warm. The kettle was producing more steam than a sauna bath. We really had to get one with an automatic cut off. I kept a tight hold on her as she made the tea.

Walking in step with her as she went from cupboard to fridge to collect the cups and other items. "Carry the tray into the front room."

She turned to face me.

"I'd hoped."

I started to say.

"And you shall."

She kissed me.

"But not now." She smiled. She did seem happy. "Your parents are here."

I carried the tray into the living room. I placed it on the coffee table and sat in my armchair. Jenny sat on the floor in front of me, her legs curled beneath her and poured the tea.

"Will you play me something?" Mother asked suddenly. "I do like to hear you play."

"I don't play very often now." I said walking to the piano she'd bought for me. "I'd always hoped he would follow his great Uncle, Alistair." She said to Jenny as I sat down on the piano stool. "He was a concert pianist, you know."

"I didn't know that." Jenny said. "But then there is a lot about his family I don't know."

"Oh Alistair." My Father had stood up and opened the drink compartment in our sideboard.

"Still got a bottle of your Grandfathers Malt I see."

"Help yourself." I said.

I heard the glug, glug as he poured. Then again. He walked to my side and placed a triple malt on the piano top before me.

"Who was Alistair?" Jenny asked.

"It was his wife, Aunt Natasha, who left Paul the flats in London." My Mother was going into a long story of my family history.

"Anyway. Alistair was a concert pianist before the First World War. He joined up in 1915 and went to the front to be wounded in the first battle of the Somme."

"Shattered his shoulder and took his wrist off." My Father said sipping from his glass.

"Yes." My Mother sounded irritated. "Don't ruin it."

"He came back to England." She continued. "And married the widow of his best friend. He died in the war as well. Natasha's children from her first marriage died in the great flu epidemic of 1919."

"Killed more people then the First World War." My Father took another sip. "Yes dear." My Mother smiled sadly. "Well, Natasha and Alistair married and Alistair went on to teach in London and wrote a number of pieces.

They were never very well received. Too dark and brooding for popular taste. I placed some in your piano stool.

I stood up and lifted the lid of the stool. I'd looked before of course, but as the top sheets had been mine from home I hadn't looked further. At the bottom were perhaps half a dozen pieces, yellowing with age.

For Natasha, by Alistair Wagstaffe.

Hand written in a slightly disjointed style on top of the first sheet.

I lifted it out and opened it on the music rest. The music was hand written.

"This isn't a print." I said looking at my Mother. "This is an original."

"Your Grandfather found them going through your Grandmothers personal items. He thought you should have them. He says you remind him so much of his brother." I played the opening bars. I stopped and worked some flexibility into my fingers.

"My fingers don't work as well as they used to." I said.

They didn't either.

What with a wrist being crushed by a panther and scare tissue from beating out the flames on Louise's hair it was little wonder.

I started again. It was a slow piece thankfully. Yes I could see it would not make anybody's top ten. It needed to be played with feeling. As if you had been there to experience the heartbreak in a woman who'd had a husband killed in war and seen her children die, probably before her eyes, and. Yes, there was an and. Beneath the surface the longing of one for another. I started again. Perhaps I'd played too quickly and had missed something. There was something there I couldn't find.

I stopped. He'd only had one hand.

I started again. Right-handed. No, it didn't work. Left-handed. That was better. It seemed to flow. Yes it was haunting and very, very sad.

I stopped and turned.

My Mother and Jenny were both crying.

My Father coughed.

"Have some more whisky, Paul."

Chapter 2.

I lay on my back on the single bed in our spare bedroom as Jenny undressed. I wished the room would stop spinning.

Why I had to drink those other two glasses of Malt.

Then my mother was crying again when the clock struck twelve.

I picked out the notes on the piano whilst they sang Happy Birthday to me. I could understand why his music was difficult to play. You needed a certain amount of stiffness in your fingers to play it as it had been written and I think it would have lost a lot in transcribing for a right hand dominant two handed player.

I wonder if he ever played it to her. She must have known about it as my mother told me she had found it amongst her things in the flat in London after she died.

I dimly remembered trips to London in the mid-fifties. Staying in the big flat.

I'd been more interested in the trips to the Zoo. I seemed to remember her being tall and thin. But when you're five everybody is tall. I never met Alistair. He did me, when I was very young.

He died on the same day as the last King. He had never been particularly well after the First War and his work during the second, as a type of spin merchant for Winston Churchill, who got by with a couple of hours cat-napping each day, took its toll.

Jenny pulled back the sheet and looked down at my prick.

"That's no use to anybody." She said straddling me and running the lips of her fanny up and down its length.

Her breasts dangled down above me so I reached up and held them.

"How would you like your first present?" She asked.

I could feel my prick growing beneath her.

"What is it?" I asked in reply, kneading her breasts, feeling the nipples against the palms of my hand.

"Me. You frog."

"Do I have to draw you a diagram?" She lifted herself up and, positioning the tip of my prick against the opening to her fanny sank down upon it. "Why do I think I'm doing this?"

She raised and lowered herself.

I felt her ass cheeks.

"You like me." I half smiled up at her.

"Sometimes I wonder why."

She threw back her head and sucked in a lung full of air. He fanny tightened around my prick, squeezing me tight.

I ran a finger between the cheeks of her ass until I touched her anus. A low groan escaped her lips.

"Well?" She panted. "How do you want me?"

"This is fine thanks." I gave her a silly grin.

"That's because you're idle and want me to do all the work."

"It's my Birthday."

I could feel my balls tightening.

She speeded up her movements. I could hear the bedsprings protesting.

"Must get some oil." My breath was coming in short gasps.

"Why? Why?" She panted. Then threw herself down upon my chest her fanny in spasms about my prick.

She sucked hard once against the side of my neck and let out a long sigh.

"That was nice." She said kissing my chin.

I raised my hips pushing my prick a couple of inches further inside her.

Her eyes opened wide.

"You not finished?" She raised herself and began sliding up and down again.

"Men. The things I do for you."

"I do things as well?" I protested placing my hands on her hips and almost wanking my self off with her fanny.

I guided her movements. Faster, then slower as a wave of pleasure washed over me.

Faster again as the pressure in my balls started building again. Then holding her still as I pumped in and out of her from below. I grunted as I came. Jerking inside her.

"Are you alright? Paul." I heard my Mother call from the landing outside.

"Fine." I gasped.

"Never better." Pulling Jenny's lips to mine.

"I'm sure you're Father gave you too much Whisky. He always does."

"Come back to bed. We haven't finished yet." I heard my Father softly call.

"David." My Mother hissed back. "Be quiet. Paul's awake."

Chapter 3.

I awoke with a hard on. The tip of my prick nestling between Jenny's ass cheeks. I pushed slightly and felt her wriggle back against me. She lifted her leg slightly and my prick lay along the lips of her fanny. I slid back and forth along it. She moaned. My prick was getting wet. My tongue felt like sandpaper.

Too much Whisky.

The Sun was streaming through the bedroom curtains. I looked at my wristwatch.

Seven fifteen.

What to do?

Get up and see if my parents had brought me anything? Fuck Jenny. I reached around her and felt her breasts, rubbing the nipples with my fingertips. I felt them grow and harden. She pushed her ass cheeks back against my pubic hairs. I lifted her thigh and placed the tip of my prick against her fanny and pushed into her. She groaned as I penetrated her. Pulling back I sank back into her, feeling her grip then release me. She relaxed and I set up a slow rhythm moving in and out.

I breathed in the smell of her hair. A slight apple fragrance from my latest shampoo. The curls were a lot looser now. She was having it redone before we went to Jamaica in August.

I quickened my strokes. Conscious that she hadn't come and that I didn't need much to bring me off in the morning.

"You Ok." I grunted in her ear."

"Yeah." She breathed back.

"I'm nearly there."

"I know."

"Are you going to?"

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

I was coming. I was there. I closed my eyes and let my balls empty themselves inside her.

I lay still for a few moments. My shrinking prick still inside her.

She turned her head to be kissed. I did it.

"Clean those teeth. You smell of stale whisky."

"You say the nicest things."

I pulled from her squeezed myself onto my back between her and the wall. She looked over her shoulder then turned to face me, resting her head on mine. She looked up and me and I kissed her forehead.

"I'm sorry." She said, cupping my balls. "I didn't spoil it for you, did I?"

She looked quite sad.

"No." I hastened to reassure her. "Of course not. It was great."

"That's alright then." She seemed to brighten immediately. She released my balls, patted my prick and got out of bed

"What time is it?" She asked, pulling on yesterday's knickers and her jeans and putting on her blouse.

She carried her bra.

"Seven thirty two." I said, glancing at my watch.

"I'll go and make the tea." She opened the door and looked outside as if checking that the coast was clear.

"What are you on today?"

"A lecture at nine fifteen to ten forty-five." I replied.

"I can miss this afternoons." She said. "Get up, I hear your parents moving around."

"Alright." I moaned, and stood up, my half hard prick dangling before me.

"Make it go down and put it away." She said closing the door behind her and speaking to my mother.

"Tea first. Do you think?" I heard her say as they made there way downstairs.

I heard the toilet flush and the heavier step of my father following them down.

"Come on Paul." I heard him call. "We need to be at the Station for nine."

I quickly threw on yesterdays clothes and made my way downstairs. It must be present giving time.

I liked presents. Normally it would be a jumper or other clothes from my parents but it made my mother happy to see me open them. Being an only child I suppose.

They were all waiting for me at the foot of the stairs.

"Better do it now." My father said, opening the front door.

Jenny barred my way.

"Close you eyes."

Silly games time was it.

I closed my eyes and allowed her to lead me out of the house.

Three paces outside we stopped.

"Keep your eyes closed." I sensed Jenny's head was close to my own. "I'm watching you."

I could hear popping noises.

"Just uncovering it." My father said.

Nothing seemed to happen for ten seconds.

"Alright." Jenny kissed my cheek. "You can open them now."

I did. Blinking for a second in the sunlight.

"Its." I started.

"Green?" Jenny said.

"Its."

"A car." My mother said.

"Its."

"Yours." My father said, pressing a key into my hand.

"It's a Morgan."

"Ordered it four years ago. Couldn't insure you until you were twenty-one. Didn't think it would be finished on time. We had to collect it ourselves yesterday."

My mother and father both seemed to be talking at once.

I wasn't really listening.

A Morgan.

"Thank you. Thank you." I repeated.

I turned to Jenny.

"Happy Birthday, Paul."

I put my arm around her waist and kissed her.

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